


No Good Deed

by Rod13369



Category: Firefly, Warehouse 13
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Multi, Mystery, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod13369/pseuds/Rod13369
Summary: Just because Earth-That-Was is gone, doesn't mean that there aren't still things that might ruin humanity's day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-BDM, with all that implies.  
> Originally posted on Fanfiction.net from 20/1/14 to 13/3/16.

“You know,” he says as they stand in line, “you really don’t have to do this.”

“Mal.” She gives him an all too familiar look, the look that says _Quit being so dense._ “We already talked about this. If I’m part of the crew, then I need to do the work.”

He can’t reply because they have reached the head of the line and the admissions clerk is asking for their tickets. He hands them over, using his peripheral vision to study the guard that stands off to the side. According to the client’s notes, there will be a guard at every doorway, and several circulating around the exhibit hall itself. The clerk studies their tickets, holds them up to a special lamp, nods, rips the two little papers in half, and hands the stubs back to Mal. “Enjoy the exhibit,” he tells them.

“We will,” Mal assures him, placing a hand on his companion’s arm and guiding her past the little stand. Past the guard, through the doorway, and as they enter the room proper Mal stops and stares. The client had told him what to expect, but there is always a difference between imagining and seeing. This time, seeing is better than imagining.

According to the write-up, it’s been over a year since the archaeologists discovered this collection of items. Mal, like any layman, knows that scientists are a finicky bunch. He suspects that they could have opened this exhibit within a month of the find and still had people beating down the door. But now, standing here, he’s glad that someone took the time to do this right: The largest ever exhibit of Earth-That-Was artifacts.

It’s a decent size hall; he estimates that both shuttles would fit comfortably in here, side by side, and still have room to walk around both of them. The high ceiling draws some of the heat away from the mass of humanity that covers the floor, circulating, admiring. Mal stands at the top of a short flight of stairs, probably built for this very view. The lighting is at a perfect level, with spotlights picking out the individual pieces. Down there, somewhere, is the reason that he is here tonight. But it can wait for a moment…

A gentle nudge in the ribs brings Mal back to himself. Sheepishly, he grins at her, and together they descend into the crowd. For the first time, Mal is glad that Inara is helping him to case the place.

Scratch that. Mal never regrets spending time with Inara, especially since the events of Miranda. He still regrets that he managed to drive her off the first time, and is a little sorry that he destroyed her place at the Training House. He’s not sorry that he rode straight into a trap to rescue her (really, can it be a trap since he knew it was coming?), and he’s very glad that she (and the others) had his back on Mr. Universe’s moon. Having her back on the boat helps to fill some of the gaping void left by Wash’s death.

Though he’d never admit it out loud, tonight he’s glad that she is part of his crew. Anyone who looks in their direction ends up gazing at her and barely noticing him, moving aside to allow the lady to pass. This gets the pair as close as possible to the exhibits, allowing Mal the opportunity to study both objects and security measures with equal scrutiny. Though he normally doesn’t have time for history, Mal is fascinated by the sheer array of stuff that the archaeologists uncovered. He and Inara have already admired a table and chair, an old-fashioned lamp, and a twenty-first century computer. Amazing, really, what his ancestors managed to pack on those spaceships… “Bingo,” he mutters, spotting the next exhibit. Hearing his tone, Inara follows his gaze, nodding acknowledgment. She steps slightly ahead of him, and the crowd parts once more for her. Within seconds, they stand in front of a display of small items.

“Magnets reported to belong to the German physician Franz Mesmer,” Inara reads aloud. “Used in hypnotherapy of patients.” She turns to look at Mal, slightly incredulous. “That’s them?”

“That’s them,” he agrees, understanding her confusion. What the client wants with three magnets, each of which can’t be much longer than his middle finger, is beyond him. Then again, they are Earth-That-Was artifacts, and the guy is a collector of rare antiquities, so maybe it’s not that difficult to figure out. “See anything?” he asks, keeping his voice low and turning his attention to the display case itself. The glass doesn’t look too thick, but he suspects that there may be lasers inside the display… Yes, there are the projection lenses.

“Nothing obvious,” she replies. “Mal are you sure--”

“Come on,” he cuts her off, wrapping her hand in his, tugging slightly. “Let’s go check out the other pieces.” He turns away from the pedestal, walking only a step before someone collides with him. Grunting in surprise, he reaches out his free hand to grab and steady the other person. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“Entirely my fault,” she replies. “I really should watch where I’m going.” Her accent catches Mal’s attention because it sounds almost like Badger’s, except it’s more refined. Then he gets a good look at her.

The woman who ran into him is of average height, like Inara. Like Inara, there is nothing average about her looks. High cheekbones dominate her face, balanced by full lips drawn in a half smile. Mal’s eyes continue down her figure, noting the casual yet dressy shirt and vest, the tan pants tucked into dark knee-high boots. He pulls his eyes back up to meet hers and is a little startled to recognize the cool, calculating look there; it’s the same look he sees in the mirror every morning.

“No, he’s an oaf,” Inara’s voice breaks in to his musings. “Our apologies.” She wraps her free hand around Mal’s bicep and pulls him to the side, away from the woman. He follows her lead, shaking his head to clear it. Those eyes…. “Mal.”

“What?” He turns to meet Inara’s gaze.

“I asked if you are okay.” Amusement tugs at the corner of her mouth. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“Woman, are you mocking me?”

Now she’s smirking at him. “Considering your track record, I think that it’s a perfectly valid question.” Before he can say anything else, she turns away, tugging on his hand and leading him back through the crowd to where two familiar figures are standing by a display of kitchenware.

“Sir,” Zoe greets him. “Did you find it?”

“Yup. How are things outside?”

“All taken care of,” Jayne replies, looking ill at ease in such a large crowd. Not too surprising, Mal thinks, considering they all had to leave their weapons on the ship. “Now what?” the large mercenary asks.

“You two head back to the ship and make sure everything’s ready for tonight. We’ll stay for a bit, make sure that we didn’t miss anything.”

“I thought we had seen everything we needed,” Inara comments as the other pair heads for the exit.

Mal shakes his head. “Clearly, I still got a lot to teach you about tactics. We only saw ‘bout half the trinkets.”

She’s smiling at him again, a genuine smile this time. “Why Captain Reynolds, you _do_ know how to show a lady a good time.”

He can’t help smiling back at her. “C’mon,” he says, tugging her hand. Together, they continue to the next display.

* * *

 

Mal has never liked nighttime raids. The dark, the armed security systems, everything combines to really drive home the fact that he’s actually thieving. Okay, it’s not like he hasn’t stolen before, and his crew are looking to him to put food on the table and get paid, but it doesn’t change the fact that nighttime jobs give him the creeps.

Maybe it’s the fact that there’s no crowd to disappear in to after things go wrong. Take tonight, for example: The street outside the museum is devoid of anyone except the occasional pedestrian, usually a local lawman. Mal, Zoe, and Jayne have been careful to keep to the shadows around the building as they make their way to the window Zoe gimmicked earlier in the day. With a final warning for Jayne, who has sentry duty, Mal and Zoe duck inside.

Another reason Mal hates the night is that it’s so _quiet._ Quiet in the black is nice. Quiet during a job? Not so much. During daylight hours, all kinds of noises can disguise a dropped item or swearwords when you run into something in an unfamiliar place. But tonight? The duo’s breathing sounds abnormally loud in the silent museum. As they duck behind a large sculpture to avoid a guard, Mal has to keep reminding himself that his heartbeat is no louder than usual, that the guard can’t hear it at all.

Finally, the patrol moves on, and Mal leads the way around the corner to the Earth-That-Was display. The entranceway to the special exhibit hall has an added layer of security in the form of two cameras, but these don’t worry Mal. As the client told them, and Mal’s team confirmed that very day, the cameras are fixed; while their fields of view overlap, there is a slight gap in the coverage. Taking a deep breath, Mal flattens himself to the wall and creeps slowly, oh so slowly, to the doorway. Finally, he slides around the corner and pauses in the shadows to catch his breath and survey the room.

In contrast to earlier, the room sits now in near-perfect darkness. Here and there, spotlights have been left on, picking out several of the larger pieces and providing enough light to navigate by. Thankfully, the light over the magnets is not one of these. Keeping to the shadows, Mal heads down the stairs. He can barely make out the sound of Zoe’s boots on the floor behind him. According to plan, she finds a spot in the shadows of a display near the bottom of the stairs and crouches down, keeping an eye on the doorway. Meanwhile, Mal heads for the display case where the magnets are kept.

He’s almost made it when an electric crackling sound shatters the silence. Reflexively, Mal drops behind the nearest display case, gun drawn. Senses razor-sharp, he scans the room, searching for the source of the noise. “Zoe?” he whisper-shouts. “Zoe!”

No answer. Mal scans the room again, and spots a familiar arm lying on the ground. Before he can move to investigate, something cold touches him right behind the ear. “ _Liu kou shui de biao-tze hue hoe-tze de ben ur-tze.”_

“Such language,” a soft voice admonishes him. “Your weapon, please.” Mal raises his hand and loosens his grip, allowing his gun to be removed. “Good boy. Now then—urgh!”

With speed born of training and desperation, Mal grabs the hand holding the gun on him and rises, using strength and surprise to swing his attacker around in front of him. Something, it feels like a foot, hooks him behind the knee, bringing him back down. His knees hit the floor with a painful crack, but he manages to hang on to the arm, and even catches a second hand as it flies towards his face. Exerting all of his strength, he forces his attacker’s arms down until he can see the face to which they belong. His eyes widen in surprise. “You!”

The striking woman from earlier in the day does not appear as surprised as him. “Well, you’re not much of an oaf after all, are you?” The half-smile is gone, and even in the dim light Mal can still see the calculating look in her eyes. “Why are you after the magnets?”

_“Shuh muh?”_

The look she gives him reminds him of Zoe. “Come now my good man, I did see you scoping out the security arrangements earlier today.”

There is really nothing to say to this, but Mal’s mouth has always run ahead of his brain. “You ran into me on purpose!” he blurts out, barely remembering to keep his voice down so as not to alert any passing security guards to their presence. A faint smile traces her lips, but before she can reply an unmistakable sound reaches Mal’s ears: the scuff of shoe on marble. Someone else is in the exhibit hall.

She hears it, too. Her eyes flick back towards the entrance, and Mal seizes his chance. Once more, he tries to throw off her grasp. Once more, he is unsuccessful. In a move too quick to follow, she frees her hand and aims a right funny-lookin’ gun at him. Green lightning shoots from the barrel, accompanied by a crackling sound Mal recognizes. _‘Least I know what happened to Zoe._ His muscles spasm, dropping him prone on the floor. He struggles to stay awake, wanting to know who got the drop on them, and though it takes a powerful effort, he’s mostly successful. His brain is clearly addled by the lightning, however. How else could he explain the fact that the two men walking past him right now look identical to those gorram blue hands what trailed River for a time? Mal never saw them personally, but he remembers their handiwork all too well. Or does he? His brain is feelin’ a mite fuzzy…

Faster’n’a bolt of lightning, the woman pops up from behind another display a few feet away (and when did she get over there?) and fires another blast of green light, this time at the two interlopers. They respond so quick and smooth that Mal instantly knows they’ve had training: At the first sound from the gun, both men drop low to avoid the emerald bolt and pull their own peculiar weapons. One signs something to the other. Mal can’t see what, exactly, since they’re off to his side and he can’t really move right now, but the one puts his gun away and begins moving away all stealthy-like, keeping low and staying behind the display cases whenever possible. The second guy, meanwhile, fires a shot of his own towards the woman, the bolt of blue lightning hitting the floor right beside the pedestal she’s crouching behind. She shoots back, and the room is briefly lit with a tiny fireworks display of blue and green light. Mal wonders briefly why no guards have come running when he notices the second Blue Hand crouched by the magnets’ display case. Somehow, the man got the case open and is hastily shoving the little metal bars into a silver pouch of some kind, adding purply gold sparks to the light show.

Mal blinks to clear his eyes, but when he opens them again Blue Hand Two has drawn his own weapon and is aiming it at the woman. Before Mal can call out a warning, Two fires. The lightning catches the woman full in the back, knocking her down and out. Looking satisfied, Two walks right in front of Mal’s face, not even looking at the captain. Turning his head doesn’t take as much effort now, and Mal is able to follow Two as he meets up with One and the pair exits the room. Total elapsed time since the woman shot Mal: probably two minutes. Maybe. That is, assuming the lightning didn’t addle Mal’s brain too much…

Shaking his head to clear it doesn’t hurt too badly, so Mal decides the effects of the Lightning Gun are wearing off. His arms obey his brain’s command to move, and he’s able to push himself up onto hands and knees, although he can’t quite suppress a groan of discomfort. An answering groan brings his head snapping up faster than is probably advisable. “Zoe?”

“Here, sir,” she replies. Scuffling and scraping sounds ensue, and just as Mal is contemplating standing his partner walks over. She’s a little wobbly, but doesn’t look any worse for the wear. “What happened?” she asks, extending her hand.

He takes it, and she gently pulls him upright. The room sways for a moment, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing it to stop. It does. “Don’t rightly know,” he answers Zoe’s question, opening his eyes once more, “’sides the fact that our ambusher was ambushed.” Looking around, he locates said ambusher and heads towards her. Kneeling sets the room spinning again, but he grits his teeth and keeps going, reaching out to touch the woman’s neck. “Got a pulse.” He doesn’t know why he’s surprised; the woman’s Lightning Gun didn’t kill him or Zoe, so why would the guns of the Blue Hands kill her? Then again, who’s to say the Blue Hands won’t be back to finish the job?

“We best be going, sir,” Zoe reminds him.

She’s right; the last thing they need is for someone to find them now. That’d be the icing on the protein cake of this _hun-dan_ job. ‘Course, it’d be nice to understand _why_ the job went to Hell in a hand basket… “Gimme a hand,” Mal tells Zoe.

“Sir?”

“I want answers,” Mal explains, rolling the woman over and attempting to pull her up. Thankfully, Zoe moves to help him. “And I think she has ‘em.” Between the two of them, they get Mal standing upright once more, the woman slung over his shoulder. As quickly as possible, Mal makes for the exit. Zoe only stops long enough to collect their weapons before following. _Now,_ Mal thinks, _if we can just avoid any police-type folks and get back to my ship, maybe I can get those answers._

* * *

 

“Gorram it, Mal!” Jayne shouts for the umpteenth time.

Mal’s head is starting to hurt, mostly due to Jayne’s shouting, but before he can reply in kind Simon speaks up.

“If you can’t keep your voice down, I’ll have to ask you to leave my infirmary.” Jayne glares at the back of the doc’s head, but subsides. Simon carries right on with his doctoring of Mal, apparently oblivious to Jayne’s death gaze. Someday, Mal promises himself, he’ll get the story behind the doc’s control of the big mercenary.

“’S not like Cap’n had a choice, Jayne,” Kaylee pipes up. She’s standing on the opposite side of the infirmary, helping Zoe wrap her ankle. Mal winces; if Zoe hadn’t been suffering from the effects of electric shock and trying to keep an eye on him and his “passenger”, she would have easily noticed and avoided that divot in the park. But she hadn’t, and so when Kaylee greeted them on their return both Mal and Jayne each carried a woman in their arms. Thankfully, Doc declared Zoe’s ankle was only sprained. “He was shot, after all,” the mechanic continues.

“More like shocked,” Simon clarifies, finally stepping back. “You’re lucky.”

“How so?” Mal asks, incredulous.

“Take a look,” Inara tells him. She’s standing next to him, holding out the Lightning Gun. “See here?” She points to a dial on the grip that Mal hadn’t noticed before. “Kaylee says that controls how powerful the discharge is.”

“You mean it can be stronger?” Mal doesn’t like the sound of that.

“That’s right Cap’n,” Kaylee answers. “I guess it could kill a person, if she wanted it to.”

Hearing those words, Jayne makes a grab for the pistol, but Inara levels her own death glare at him, and he pulls back. “Just wanted to try it out,” he mutters.

“There’ll be no trying out on my boat,” Mal informs him.

“Don’t see why we had to grab her anyway,” Jayne sulks, gazing at the figure lying on the one infirmary bed. “She’s the reason we didn’t get the goods, so she’s the reason we won’t be gettin’ paid.”

“Which is precisely why I grabbed her,” Mal explains. “She can give us answers.” _I hope._ “Doc,” he continues, dropping down from his seat on the counter and moving toward the woman, “you got something that can wake her up?”

“Not necessary.” River’s voice emanates from behind Jayne, making the big man jump and start swearing.

“Lil’ Albatross,” Mal greets his pilot. “Are we--?”

“No sign of pursuit,” she interrupts, stepping around Jayne and into the infirmary. “We have left the planet’s gravity well and are accelerating away at a steady rate. I engaged the autopilot,” she states, answering Mal’s unvoiced concern. She looks back at their passenger. “She’s already awake.”

Mal looks down, and sure enough, the woman’s eyes are open. She gives him a brief nod. Mal sighs. “Judging from your lack of questions, I’m guessing you’ve heard most of what’s been said, so you know how my crew and I feel about you. I’d surely appreciate it if you cooperate, because otherwise I’ll be forced to let Jayne here,” Mal motions to the mercenary, who grins, “test out that fancy gun of yours, using you as a target.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she states. She is remarkably calm for someone facing a grinning Jayne. “How may I be of service?”

Questions buzz through Mal’s mind, crying out to be answered by the woman. Actually, come to think of it, he can’t keep calling her ‘the woman’. “What’s your name?”

“Helena.”

Mal can tell she’s hiding something. He could leave it go, but if she holds back here, what will she hold back later? “Helena what?”

She lets out a quiet sigh. “Helena G. Wells.”

The way she says the name, it sounds like there’s something important about it, but nothing is ringing any bells in Mal’s mind. He looks up, his gaze landing on Zoe, who looks equally confused.

“Oh my God,” Simon breathes. Mal turns to the doc, who looks like he’s seen a ghost. “H. G. Wells.”


	2. Chapter 2

Silence follows the young man’s statement, giving Helena a moment to study her surroundings. From the conversation she overheard, she knows that she’s in a ship’s infirmary; comparing the size and layout with what she knows of current ship designs leads to the conclusion that she is on board an older vessel, likely a _Firefly-_ or _Whirlybird_ -class transport. She occupies the sole bed. To her left are the captain, Mal, and the woman who stood by his side earlier that day. Based on her bearing, Helena tentatively pegs the woman as a Companion. Directly in front of Helena stands the young man who has put the pieces together; running quickly through her memories of the conversation, Helena believes that he is the one Mal referred to as “Doc”. Behind him stand two humans who could not be more opposite. One, the tall, muscular male whom Mal referred to as “Jayne”, studies Helena warily, his hand resting blatantly on the gun holstered on his thigh. The other, a small, slight female, meets Helena’s gaze evenly, studying Helena even as Helena studies her, and Helena senses that this child also knows the truth of Helena’s past. Helena deliberately looks away to the right, making note of the last two people in the compartment. The dark-skinned woman Helena stunned earlier is sitting on the counter, looking at Helena with intense dislike. Next to her stands a younger woman, blonde, wearing a coverall and enough engine grease to lubricate a small ground vehicle. Clearly, she is the ship’s mechanic.

“Who?” Mal asks, pulling Helena’s attention back to him. He is looking at the doctor.

“H. G. Wells,” the medic repeats, clearly in awe, “the father of science fiction.”

“Science fiction?” the mechanic asks.

_“Father?”_ Mal looks at Helena, studying her. A slight smile on his face, he turns back to the doctor. “Doc, I don’t normally tell you how to do your job,” the young man finally stops staring at Helena and looks incredulously at the captain, “but I do believe the word ‘father’ implies someone of the male sex.”

Behind Mal, the Companion rolls her eyes, but Helena can see the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

The doctor shrugs helplessly. “I don’t understand either, Captain.”

“Simon?” the mechanic asks. When the doctor faces her, Helena adds the name to what she’s already learned. “What’s science fiction?”

Before he can open his mouth, the girl behind him replies. “It was a type of story on Earth-That-Was, usually characterized by spaceships, alien life-forms, and technology ahead of the state of the art.” She finally stops looking at Helena and looks at the mechanic instead. “We live a very science fictional life.”

“Lotta talkin’,” Jayne breaks in, “but I don’t hear no explainin’ how this woman is a father.”

Wincing at the man’s deplorable grammar, Helena prepares to explain, but the doctor beats her to it. “Herbert George Wells was one of the first people to write science fiction stories, and they were so popular that they influenced many of the authors who came later. Even today, you can download them from the Cortex.”

Now the big man looks confused. “Thought she said her name was ‘Helena’.”

“It is,” Helena informs him. “Herbert Wells never existed.”

“But what about the pictures?” Simon asks.

“My brother, Charles, provided the mustache. I created and wrote the tales.”

“Why’d your brother--”

“As fascinatin’ as this all is,” Mal cuts in, clearly annoyed, “I’m more interested in why you was interfer--”

“Mal,” the Companion cuts him off, “H. G. Wells, Helena, wrote those stories over six hundred years ago.”

The news brings Mal’s rant to a halt before it even gets going. “ _Shuh muh?”_

_Why can’t things ever go smoothly?_ Helena thinks as the crew begins all talking at once. Unfortunately, now that they’ve put the pieces together, there’s no way that she can feed them a pack of lies. If nothing else, she’ll have to explain why she was after the magnets. Thankfully, they don’t seem to be aware of what the magnets actually are, so a partial truth should serve. It is obvious that Mal and his crew wish to avoid any entanglements with law enforcement, something Helena can use to her advantage. As to whom she is… Helena’s train of thought slows as she notices something: The rest of the crew may be talking over one another, but the young girl standing between Simon and Jayne remains silent, staring at Helena. In fact, Helena has the disconcerting feeling that the girl knows exactly what she’s been thinking. _So much for the easy way out._

“—why she’s interferin’ with our work?”

“—almost seven hundred years old!”

“—we gettin’ PAID?”

Tired of being talked about as though she isn’t there, Helena attempts to sit up. She is only mildly surprised when a restraint of some kind tugs at her wrist. The motion is enough to bring the disparate conversations to a halt and return the group’s attention to Helena. “As flattering as all of this is, I don’t think it is helping any of us get what we want,” she comments.

“What I want,” Mal informs her, “are answers. You willing to give those?”

“Could we go somewhere more comfortable?” If she can learn more about the ship, she may have a chance at escaping.

He thinks it over for several moments, holding silent conversations with his crew. Finally, he speaks again. “Long as you’re on your best behavior, sure.”

“I give you my word.”

“Okay then.” Motioning to the others to head out, Mal steps closer to Helena and undoes the restraint. As she gets up, he lays a warning hand on her arm. “You best keep that promise. My crew and I are right particular about promises.” With that, he motions for her to follow the others. As she passes Jayne where he stands in the doorway, he falls in behind her, next to Mal.

“Since when are we particular about promises?” the big man asks.

“Shut up, Jayne.” Mal replies.

* * *

 

“Where shall I begin?” Helena asks.

Her earlier deduction has been confirmed: The ship is indeed a _Firefly_. The crew and she are now in the galley/recreation area. Most of the crew is seated at the dining table, although the dark-skinned woman, whom Helena has learned is named Zoe, is seated on the low sofa with her left leg elevated. Apparently, she twisted her ankle while returning to the ship. Helena suspects that Zoe blames her for this.

The mechanic, Kaylee, opens her mouth, but it is Mal who speaks first. “Why were you after the magnets?” He stands at the head of the table, arms folded, expression guarded.

Simple and straightforward as the question seems, Helena still must take a moment to frame her answer. Time has not changed the fact that the Warehouse is kept secret. “The man that I work for wished--”

“Hang on,” Mal interrupts. “This man wouldn’t be named Jefferson Greco, would he?”

“No,” Helena replies. Mal motions for her to continue. “As I was saying, the man that I work for wished the magnets to be kept away from the public eye. I was to remove them from the exhibit and bring them to him.”

“Why?” the Companion asks.

“He is, shall we say, a collector of certain items.”

“Things from Earth-That-Was?” Simon asks.

“Among other things,” Helena allows.

“What kinds of ‘other things’?” Mal inquires.

Helena needs to steer this conversation away from this topic, but is unsure of how to do so. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I dunno,” Kaylee says. “After Miranda I c’n believe a hell of a lot I used not to.”

The name stops Helena in her metaphorical tracks. “Miranda?” The aftershocks of that wave are only just starting to settle after six months. “What do you know about Miranda?”

“Were us that found out,” Kaylee explains, looking melancholy. “Cap’n sent the wave himself.”

Unbidden, images from the wave spring to Helena’s mind, accompanied by details she read in a report sent to the head of the Warehouse, Michael Jenkins. “This ship… this is the _Serenity_.”

“Welcome aboard,” Captain Malcolm Reynolds, formerly sergeant of the 57th Overlanders, replies sardonically. Helena cannot reply; her mind is busy applying names and other details to the people now seated before her. The Companion next to Reynolds, that’s Inara Serra, and that is former Corporal Zoe Alleyne Washburne seated on the sofa. At least Helena now understands the woman’s stoic demeanor; the report stated that Zoe’s husband, Hoban Washburne, was killed by Reavers during the final altercation. Helena knows all too well what it is to lose the one you love… With an effort, she turns her mind away from those dark thoughts and back to the task at hand. More details of the report come flooding back; Helena now recognizes Jayne Cobb, the mercenary, and Kaylee Frye, the mechanic. Seated next to Kaylee, arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, is none other than Doctor Simon Tam, who, it could be argued, had caused the whole mess by rescuing his sister River… Helena’s eyes move to the girl in question. Of the entire crew, she is the one who looks calm. “Now then,” Reynolds continues, impatience starting to color his voice, “if’n we’re done with introductions, I’d appreciate you answering my question: What kinds of things does your boss collect?”

_Well, I never was one for following the rules,_ Helena thinks, digging into her trouser pocket. “Items like this,” she replies, holding up the object in question.

Jayne snorts a laugh. “What’s so special ‘bout a thimble?”

In reply, Helena concentrates on the captain and slips the thimble onto her index finger.


	3. Chapter 3

For the most part, Inara does not regret her decision to leave the Training House. There are times that she longs for her days of meditation and teaching, when the most she had to worry about was the occasional splinter or what she would impart to the next class of trainees she lectured. It was a marked contrast to the helplessness she felt earlier tonight as she waited on _Serenity_ for the return of Jayne, Zoe, and Mal. Then again, life at the Training House didn’t offer the opportunity to meet authors who had supposedly died over six hundred years ago.

True, so far Miss Wells hasn’t offered them any actual proof that her identity is valid. But there is something about the woman, an emotional weight, a look in her eyes that speaks of a great age that is at odds with her physical appearance. Too, Inara is well aware of the fact that River and Mal have worked out a system of sorts for when the young Reader catches someone in a lie. Yet Inara has seen no signal pass between the pair, leaving two possibilities: Either the woman is delusional, or she really is H. G. Wells.

As Mal and the others question the woman, Inara studies her. For someone who was ambushed and essentially kidnapped, Helena is remarkably calm. Yet with her training Inara can see beneath this veneer to the thinking that the woman is doing, likely plotting her escape. Her eyes dance over the crew, not really taking them in, and her tone of voice indicates that she is merely humoring Mal. Then Kaylee mentions Miranda, and Helena’s focus changes. Now she is looking at each of the crew in turn, and Inara can see that she clearly knows who they are. In some ways, that doesn’t mean too much; Inara is well aware of the rumors that have been circulating among the dregs of society for the last several months, and the fact that Mal doesn’t really discourage them. Yet there is something in Helena’s gaze, something about her body language that tells Inara that this woman, whoever she actually is, has probably seen actual hard reports from the Alliance.

Mal has clearly also sensed something; his tone has not changed but his body has tensed as he once more questions Miss Wells about the types of items her boss collects. When she reaches into her pants pocket, Inara can see Mal poised, ready to draw his gun at a moment’s notice. Then Helena holds up a small silver item, and Inara is as confused as everyone else. “What’s so special ‘bout a thimble?” Jayne snorts. Under other circumstances, Inara may have made an arch comment about Jayne recognizing the object, just to get a rise out of the big mercenary. Yet now she is too busy watching Helena. Helena, who hasn’t replied to Jayne’s question, but instead is concentrating on Mal with enough focus to make the man squirm slightly. Helena, who Inara can see is placing the thimble on her right index finger. Helena, whose body begins to blur and move in an unnatural manner. Helena, who mere moments later is replaced where she stands by an exact duplicate of Mal.

To say that the crew is surprised doesn’t do justice to the range of reactions. Mal, Jayne, and Zoe all draw their weapons, Mal letting out an explosive “ _Tah mah duh hun-dan!”_ Kaylee shrieks and jumps in her seat; thankfully, Simon manages to prevent her from toppling over even as he gawks at the apparition. Inara feels her chest expand in a gasp of surprise, and suspects that her face matches the doctor’s.

The other Mal smirks at the lot of them, clearly amused at their response. “Does this,” he motions to his body, “answer your question?” he asks, looking at Jayne. It is Mal’s voice, and Inara looks at the man at her side, her Mal, and back again. _Dear Buddha, what is going on?_

“Nice magic trick,” Mal, the real Mal, says. His voice is impressively steady. “Now undo it.”

Not-Mal spreads his hands, the thimble on his right finger catching the light. “As you wish.” With that, he removes the thimble. There is another unnatural shimmer, and Helena stands before them once more. “As I said,” she continues, “you would not have believed me if I told you.”

“Perhaps not,” Mal admits, re-holstering his weapon and motioning for Zoe and Jayne to do the same. “But a warning next time would be much appreciated. Let’s start over: Who do you work for, and why do you want the magnets? Are they as special as that thimble?”

Helena nods her head. “The organization that I work for is one that began back on Earth-That-Was…”

* * *

 

There are distinct advantages to being a Reader.

Sure, when the Alliance “scientists” went poking around in River’s brain and stripped her ability to control her emotions, River hated her abilities. Well, she would have, except everyone else’s emotions and memories overwhelmed her to the point that she couldn’t tell what was hers and what belonged to the others. But onboard _Serenity,_ she has found a measure of peace, especially following Miranda. Her abilities have saved the crew of her new home on many occasions, and River feels like she belongs.

To a point, anyway. It can be very frustrating when she has to explain everything to the others, or someone else has to explain things to them. The speed of sound is only 340.29 meters per second, and that doesn’t account for the time it takes for the larynx to form the words, or a person’s brain to decipher the patterns of vibration that the sound waves produce on the eardrum. It is _slow_. And so, River reads.

A case in point is right now, as Helena explains the history of the Warehouse and the nature of artifacts to the rest of the crew. Rather than merely listen, River can see Helena’s memories, including her first day at Warehouse 12, when Caturanga explained all of this to her. He seems like a fascinating man, and River wishes that she could see more of him. Alas, Helena’s thoughts are focusing on other matters, like some of the artifacts that she has recovered in her long life, and River is swept along for the ride. Contrary to what Simon and the others think, she cannot dig willy-nilly through a person’s memories, only watch what they are actively thinking about. (That was the danger of Miranda; one of the politicians that visited the Academy was so focused on the report that it drowned out every other thought in the room that day.) Even so, it gives River an advantage over everyone around her; she knows beyond a doubt that Helena is _the_ H. G. Wells.

“Um, Miss Wells?” Helena is no longer speaking, but Kaylee’s voice interrupts River’s viewing of a particularly interesting memory involving the attempted retrieval of Joshua’s Trumpet, pulling her back to the galley. “That’s all real interesting, but how...” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “How is it that you’re still alive?” She’s blushing, and River sees a memory of Kaylee’s mother admonishing her then-young daughter for asking an old woman’s age.

Helena clearly understands the mechanic’s embarrassment, and she smiles to show that she is not offended. “As you can imagine, the Warehouse has access to some rather unique resources…”

* * *

 

_Somewhere in Wyoming, USA, 2010_

“You have a choice, Miss Wells.”

Adwin Kosan stands before her, gazing down at her, disapproval etched on his normally quiet face. In turmoil, Helena looks away, studying the unremarkable room they’ve confined her in. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. No furniture aside from the table in front of her, the chair under her, and the chair across from her. One door, locked from the outside. Not that she’s tried to escape; her mind is engulfed in an emotional tempest that makes focusing difficult.

One hundred years. It’s been almost a hundred years since the Regents decided that she posed a threat. One hundred years since they let her choose a different sort of time machine. A century, a lifetime. And human beings still have not changed. If anything, the human race is even more reckless now than it was then. Witness the continued existence of the Warehouse, a place that encourages that recklessness in its agents. _Well, I certainly fit the bill there._ Only a thoroughly reckless individual would even attempt to find, much less restore, an artifact like the Minoan Trident. Only a person with nothing to lose would try to bring about the next great extinction event. Only a madwoman would attempt to kill Myka…

With a supreme effort of will, Helena wrenches her thoughts away from that place and stamps down on the maelstrom, focusing once more on Mr. Kosan. It seems only fitting that he should be the one to be her judge, jury, and executioner; after all, he is the one who listened to her pleas and formally restored her to her status as Warehouse agent. He thought that he was doing the Warehouse a favor. He was wrong.

“A choice,” he repeats. He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a small jewelry box. Opening it, he sets it on the table before her. “Do you know what this is?”

After a brief glance at the object within, Helena nods. “The Janus coin,” she replies. Caturanga told her of it, once: an artifact with the ability to separate mind from body, storing the thoughts and personality of a person for all time. In other words, yet another time machine.

Kosan nods his assent. “Then you know what it is capable of.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather die than be separated from my body.” She has no idea where this burst of eloquence has come from.

“That could be arranged.” Her eyes fly up to his face, searching for any hint that his statement is in jest. His face remains inscrutable as always. “But that is not one of your options,” he continues, finally drawing out the chair across from her and sitting. “Choose: The Janus coin, or another session in the Bronzer.”

“A fourth chance?” The note of incredulity in her voice cannot be disguised.

He shrugs. “Despite what you think, you may still one day prove useful to the Warehouse. And,” he looks her square in the eye, “you are well aware that you may never be awakened again.”

An eternity as a statue, trapped in the maze of her thoughts. She shivers involuntarily. It is, as Pete would say, a no-win situation. Then again, this is punishment for her actions; why should she win? With an air of finality, she reaches out and picks up the box. She studies the coin for a moment before snapping the case shut and pushing it back across the table.

Mr. Kosan nods his head in acknowledgment. Without a word, he stands, retrieving the box and returning it to his pocket as he heads for the door. As he leaves her sight, Helena places her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands, determined not to dwell on her choice. Unbidden, Myka’s face springs to mind, and Helena knows, without a doubt, that this will be the ghost that haunts her over the coming years. _The greatest punishment of all._


	4. Chapter 4

“So the put you into some kind of stasis using another of these artifacts?” Simon’s voice pulls Helena back to the present.

“Correct,” she confirms, shaking off the memories.

“Even though they thought you were a threat?”

“Who cares?” Jayne’s voice breaks in before Helena can answer. She jumps a little; the big mercenary has been so quiet that she basically forgot he was there.

“Jayne!” Inara’s tone is that of a parent admonishing a poorly behaved child. It is about as effective as Helena remembers when she would use it on Christina; in other words, not very.

“All I’m hearin’,” the man continues, ignoring the Companion, “is a bunch o’ bedtime stories--”

“What about the--” Kaylee tries to speak, but he keeps right on talking.

“—and seen a good magic trick,” he finishes, pushing away from the wall where he has been leaning and walking over to stand by the table. He stops next to Helena, towering over her. “What’s any of this _gos se_ got to do with us getting’ _paid_?” Jayne glances down at her before glaring at the captain. “You wanted answers, Mal? You got ‘em. Now I want my coin.”

Before Mal can let go with the tirade he’s obviously building up, Helena speaks. “Is that all that you care about?” she asks the man. “Money?”

“And my guns. And my Ma. And gettin’ se--”

“We been over this before.” Miraculously, the captain’s voice brings Jayne’s words to a halt. “You don’t like how I’m doin’ things, you’re free to leave.”

“Not leavin’ without my pay,” Jayne grumbles, but he subsides.

“’Sides,” the captain continues, “not all of my questions’ve been answered.”

“But now we know why she was there!”

“Still don’t explain them gorram Blue Hands.”

If Helena thought the crew was shocked by her tale, that is nothing to how they react now. Kaylee lets out an audible gasp. Dr. Tam snaps his head around to look at the captain so quickly Helena can almost hear his muscles protest. Ms. Serra’s hand flies up to cover her mouth, eyes wide. Jayne pales. Zoe just looks grim; clearly, the presence of these “Blue Hands” is not news to her. The most noticeable reaction, however, comes from young River.

Up until now, the girl has stood off to the side, aloof, listening, and, Helena suspects, Reading. While Helena does not know the extent of River’s abilities, she is willing to bet that the girl knows more than Helena has verbally told the others. Yet at the mention of the two gentlemen who interfered at the museum, River’s eyes snap to the captain even as she begins to physically withdraw from the group, murmuring something under her breath.

“River.” Simon stand and pulls away from Kaylee. “River, it’s okay.” Carefully, he approaches his sister, hands held out in front, voice pitched as if to calm a skittish animal. “They’re not here anymore. They don’t know where you are.” He get close enough to wrap his arms around the girl, and she allows the embrace, although to Helena’s eyes she relaxes only slightly.

“Mal,” Inara speaks up, “when were you going to mention the Blue Hands?”

“Thought I already did.”

“No sir,” Zoe informs him. “Just said Helena didn’t get the magnets, and neither did we. Didn’t say who got ‘em.”

“If it’s any help,” Helena says, just to cut the tension that now permeates the room, “I’ve dealt with those gentlemen before.”

“Have you now?” Mal is appraising her again, but this time there is a little less suspicion and a little more respect in his eyes.

“Yes. And I highly doubt that they knew or cared you were here; they were after the magnets, the same as you and I.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because this isn’t the first time that they’ve stolen artifacts out from under me.”

“Excuse me?”

Helena sighs, pressing her hand to her forehead. “The reason the current head of the Warehouse de—brought me out of stasis is because for the past year these chaps have been swooping in and taking artifacts before Warehouse agents are often even aware that there is something there.”

“Competition?”

“For lack of a better word,” Helena agrees.

“Don’t really sound like the Blue Hands I remember,” Jayne grumbles just as Zoe asks, “What does this have to do with you?”

“They killed a Warehouse agent,” Helena replies. “Given my… past activities, the head of the Warehouse thought that I might be of some use in tracking these men down.”

“How’s that goin’?” Mal asks, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable.

“How does it look?” Helena snaps, beginning to lose hold of her temper. What was supposed to be merely a long day and night has now stretched into another long day/night/morning, and there doesn’t appear to be an end in sight. Meanwhile, the knowledge that she has to call Mr. Jenkins and report another double failure is not helping her mood in the slightest. He won’t even be intrigued by the news that she has met the originators of the Miranda wave… An idea suddenly appears in Helena’s mind. At first glance, it appears more than a little crazy, but that’s never stopped her before…. “May I use your computer to place a call?” she asks Mal.

He looks nonplussed until Inara says, “You mean, ‘send a wave’?”

“Yes,” Helena agrees, inwardly cursing. She made the jump to twenty-first century vocabulary and slang without too much of a problem, but twenty-sixth century linguistics still trip her up, even after seven months.

“Why?” Mal wants to know.

“I may have a job for you.”

* * *

 

_“Agent Wells, you are overdue.”_

“My apologies, Michael. There were… complications.” She stands on the _Serenity_ ’s bridge, accompanied only by Captain Reynolds. At her insistence, he stands out of range of the communication system’s camera and will say nothing during this exchange. On his own initiative, he locked the door, although what good he thinks that action will do with a Reader on board is beyond her. Then again, the girl and the rest of the crew were still preoccupied and showed no indication of leaving the galley area as she and Mal trooped up here; hopefully, they remain there until she has something more concrete to offer.

The man on-screen bristles at her use of his given name. It’s subtle, a detail that is at odds with the father-figure _persona_ he projects and one that she might have missed on the smaller, less detailed screen of a Farnsworth. She noticed it within her first hour of meeting him; while he pretends to be affable and approachable, the current head of the Warehouse is actually a scheming, power-hungry, secretive little rodent, a fact that only Helena of the current agents has apparently picked up on. Rather than rise to her bait, he instead pounces on the second part of her statement. _“Did you secure the magnets?”_

“Unfortunately not,” she replies. “Our old friends intervened.”

Grey eyes flash at her. _“Agent Wells,”_ his tone is that of a disappointed father, _“the Regents only agreed to my proposal to de-Bronze you because I believed that you were too smart to let this kind of thing happen. If you can’t live up to your reputation, I’m afraid that they may insist on returning you to stasis.”_ He’s trying to get a rise out of her, but she refuses to oblige, just as he ignored her earlier jab. _“Very well,”_ he continues after a moment, _“return to the Warehouse--”_

“If I may, Michael,” she interrupts, “I think that I can still retrieve the magnets.”

One black eyebrow arches at her. _“Really? And how do you intend to do that? They are likely already off-planet and headed for whatever rock they call home.”_

“I managed to plant a tracer on one of them.” Off to the side, she sees Reynolds startle. “I’d like to hire a ship to take me to the coordinates it sends back.”

_“Using Warehouse funds, no doubt.”_ There is no good reply to this; even if he refuses, Helena has other ways of paying the crew for their assistance. She intends on going after these men, regardless of what Michael Jenkins says. _“Oh very well,”_ he finally says. _“I can see that you won’t be swayed, and we do need to take care of this problem. But Agent Wells,”_ he heightens the intensity of his gaze, _“you will keep me updated on any and all discoveries, dong ma?”_

“Of course,” Helena replies as the picture winks out. Letting out a breath, she turns to face the captain.

“Did you really plant a tracer on those two?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, its range is only about a thousand kilometers.”

“That’s not very far.”

“No,” she admits. “But more than one tracer in close proximity will amplify that signal.”

It takes a moment, but then comprehension dawns. “You’ve done this before.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, pleased at the hint of amazement in his voice. “Well, Captain Reynolds, what do you say? Care for a job?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I could not recall which crew members knew about the Blue Hands and which did not.


	5. Chapter 5

Later, Helena is seated at the copilot’s terminal on the bridge, staring at the screen. It displays a map she has spent the better part of the day creating, one that displays the location of each moon or planet where her adversaries have taken an artifact out from under her nose. Considering that she was de-Bronzed only seven months ago, there are a surprising number; almost a dozen glowing dots are scattered around the outer edges of the system. In several instances, a line extends from a dot, marking the vector of the duo’s escape as provided by the tracers. Unfortunately, she has never managed to follow them for any serious length of time, and of course they could have changed their heading at any point…. Sighing, Helena turns her gaze to the multitude of stars outside. _It is quite a view,_ she admits. A memory surfaces: A night in South Dakota, not long before she found those three young men to make the journey to Egypt….

* * *

 

_Univille, South Dakota, 2010_

Smiling to herself, Helena shuts down the computer in the bed and breakfast’s living room. Things are starting to come together, and it won’t be long now until she’ll have confirmation of the location of Warehouse 2. Stretching, Helena rises from her seat. The house is silent, her fellow agents long since gone to bed. Helena should also get some rest, but she isn’t feeling sleepy at all. Wandering towards the kitchen, contemplating making some tea, she glances out the French doors and is immediately sidetracked. Feeling her grin return, Helena heads outside, thoroughly enjoying the sight before her: Myka, dressed in stretch pants, sneakers, and hooded sweatshirt, stretched out on one of the lounge chairs, looking up at the sky. Or she was, anyway; her head turns toward Helena as the other woman shuts the door. “Did you finish?”

“Sorry?” Helena asks, walking towards her.

“Whatever you were working on,” Myka clarifies, shifting over to make room for Helena.

“For tonight,” Helena allows. “I didn’t realize you were still awake,” she continues, stretching out beside Myka. She wants to put her arm around the younger woman, but waits for her to make the first move. It’s only been a couple of weeks since the mission to Vancouver when an artifact known as Love Potion Number 9 allowed the pair to admit their feelings for each other. Aside from their first non-artifact induced kiss, Helena has been content to let Myka set the pace of things.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Myka replies, tucking herself into the older woman’s side and laying her head on Helena’s shoulder.

Helena wraps her arm around the younger agent’s shoulders. “Is something troubling you?”

“Not really. Just don’t feel tired.”

Helena suspects Myka is not being entirely truthful, but she doesn’t push. After all, Myka hasn’t pushed about the “project” Helena is working on. A twinge of guilt hits Helena; if her plan is successful, Myka may not survive…. Resolutely, she pushes the thought away. Humanity has become a plague on this world, one that must be eradicated. But those are thoughts for another time. For the moment, Helena will simply enjoy holding Myka and staring at the stars.

* * *

 

“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Helena’s question startles River, something that doesn’t often happen. The woman is still gazing out of the window, just as she has been since River entered the bridge. River had come to investigate what the time-traveler was up to, and when she felt the depth of Helena’s emotional broadcast River couldn’t resist taking a peek at what memories produced such a strong reaction.

Helena finally looks over at River, and River realizes that Helena is waiting for an answer. “Yes.”

Helena nods, turning back to the computer screen. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Tam?”

“I wonder what you are doing.”

Helena motions her over. “Come have a look.”

River goes, equal parts excited and apprehensive. This woman has written some of River’s favorite stories and has seen many, many things in her lifetime, things that River would have once considered fiction. Then again, who would have believed that River would one day meet _the_ H. G. Wells? And now Helena is allowing her to look at a work-in-progress, to see how the mind of another genius works. In silence, River studies the map Helena has created, aware of the older woman’s regard as she does so. Unlike so many others, Helena takes River as she is, without question, and doesn’t seem put off in the least by River’s abilities. Part of this, River knows, is due to the fact that Helena has been privy to the Alliance’s files. Yet River also knows that Helena has seen so much; what is one girl who can read minds? “It’s not complete,” River says now, referring to the map.

“No,” Helena agrees, evidently frustrated.

“Look for the forest,” River encourages, knowing the woman will understand.

Sure enough, Helena smirks. “Believe me, I am. I fear that I don’t have enough data.”

River doesn’t bother to reply. Nerves and lack of sleep are clearly affecting Helena, so River will simply have to show her the forest. Knowing the author won’t object, River reaches for the keyboard and begins typing. She can feel Helena’s eyes on her. It’s not too much effort to split her focus, so as she works on the program River once more looks into Helena’s mind.

What she sees is flattering in the extreme: Helena is comparing her to Christina, her long-dead daughter, and wondering if Christina would have grown up to be anything like River. Seeing Helena’s memories of the girl, River can see the similarities, although she doubts Christina could Read. Still, it is a nice feeling, knowing that Helena thinks River is such a special person. Withdrawing from the inventor’s mind, River taps out the final command on the keyboard and stands up. Helena’s focus shifts, and together the pair watches as the computer begins altering the map according to River’s specifications.

It takes several moments for Helena to catch on to what River has done. “Clever girl,” she murmurs.

River feels herself flush at the praise. “Knowledge of the machine’s capabilities helps,” River offers by way of explanation.

“Indeed it does,” Helena agrees. On screen the map is still in flux as the computer, following River’s direction, extends, erases, and changes the possible routes the Blue Hands could have taken after each heist. River has instructed the computer to take into account as many variables as possible, including fuel levels of the pair’s ship and the presence or absence of Alliance troops near each heist and possible destination.

Within minutes, three new dots have been added to the display, glowing blue to differentiate from the locations of the thefts. Next to each dot is a percentage representing how likely it is as the final destination of the pair. Surprisingly, one number reads 75%. Helena leans forward and taps a key, enlarging that portion of the map and bringing up information on the planet in question. “Persephone,” she reads.

Somehow, River is not surprised. “The ‘verse works in mysterious ways.”

Helena turns to look at her. “Our destination?” River nods assent. “Well then,” Helena turns back to the screen, “it seems we’ll get to the bottom of this mystery that much sooner.”

* * *

 

Even as a small child, Jayne Cobb was not prone to nightmares. Some might call it lack of imagination, but Jayne has never had trouble imagining women, so that is likely not the case. Nightmares typically reflect things that scare, worry, or otherwise stress us. As far as he is aware, Jayne is scared of nothing except angering his Ma, and worry and stress are not emotions he ever set much store by. So for most of his life, Jayne has rarely dealt with nightmares.

That is, until Miranda. Or, more accurately, the events on Mr. Universe’s moon.

The couple of times he’s thought about it, Jayne admits that it was stupid to think he got out of that whole mess with only a wounded shoulder. It was bad enough being on Miranda and seeing the corpses of people who literally lay down and died. Crouching behind a makeshift barricade in a room with only one real exit and facing down Reavers…. Jayne avoids thinking about it when he is awake, but dreams are another matter entirely. And so this morning he wakes up already sitting up, hand on Vera, heart racing, chest heaving as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

_“Ni ta ma de tian-xia suo-you-de ren dou gai-si,”_ he swears, letting go of the gun and leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. The worst part about the dreams is that they leave him feeling vulnerable. Jayne _hates_ feeling vulnerable.

Scrubbing his hands across his face, Jayne looks around his bunk, reassuring himself that all of his guns are there. A glance at the small clock by his bed tells him it’s not long before he normally gets up, so there’s no real point in trying to get some more sleep. Not that he’d be able to, anyway, with so much adrenaline surging through him. Scrubbing a hand across his face again, Jayne clambers off of his bunk and grabs his pants. Hopefully, a pre-breakfast workout will clear the remnants of the dreams away.

Minutes later, when Jayne enters the cargo bay, his thoughts are finally redirected, though not quite in the way he planned. He is barely inside the hatch when the sound of an impact catches his attention. The sight before him stops Jayne in his tracks: Dressed in a tight, sleeveless shirt and leggings, hair pulled back in a loose tail, Helena Wells stands over the body of River laid out on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been three months since Mal and Inara became… whatever it is they’ve become. As much as they tease and heckle one another, neither has ever been too big on labels. And really, does it matter? Mal is as happy as he can remember being in a long time. Who cares if Inara still insists on keeping her stuff in the shuttle rather than movin’ in to his quarters? Okay, so maybe it stings a little, but as she pointed out, no point in gettin’ ahead of themselves. And, he must admit, her bed in the shuttle is a lot better for sex than his own small bunk. (Someday, he may get up the nerve to ask Zoe how she and Wash managed things…) But no matter where they are, one of Mal’s favorite activities of late is just fallin’ asleep and wakin’ up holding Inara. It’s a right peaceful feeling.

That peace is shattered this morning by a loud _thump_ outside the shuttle door. Years of habit send Mal upright and scrambling for his gun before he is fully conscious, startling Inara awake in the process. “ _Ai ya!_ ” she exclaims. “Mal what---” Her question is cut off by the sound of Jayne hollerin’ something.

Now fully awake and pulling on his pants, Mal doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, he makes for the hatch, grabbing up his gun from where it lies on a little table on the way. Barefoot, Mal makes it to the rail of the catwalk in time to see Jayne rush a woman in workout clothes. In a move almost too quick to follow, the woman, whom Mal realizes is Helena, pivots and deflects the hulking mercenary, sending him staggering into some crates off to the side. Not waiting for anyone to make another move, Mal yells, “Hey! Do you people have any idea what time it is?”

“Four hours until planet-fall.” Startled, Mal’s gaze shifts to where River is rising from the floor. “No cause for alarm; combat simulation will end now.”

Not quite understanding the girl’s statement, Mal settles for replying, “Good.” After seeing Jayne start to get up, Mal turns to go back into the shuttle, only to find Inara standing in the hatch.

“Is everyone alright?” She clutches a robe loosely around her.

“Seem to be,” Mal responds, stepping over to her. “Sorry ‘bout the rude wake-up.”

“Well, it is about time we got up, anyway.” She smirks up at him. “Are you planning on getting dressed before we land?”

Mal glances down, only just realizing what a ridiculous sight he is: No shirt, pants hastily done up, barefoot, holding a gun. No wonder he had no trouble getting the attention of the people in the bay. He looks back up at Inara, taking in her similar state of undress. “Only if you are.”

Smirk widening, Inara backs away into the shuttle, robe dropping to the ground. Feeling a smile creep across his own face, Mal follows her.

* * *

 

_Four hours later_

Mal stands behind the pilot’s chair as River brings the ship in on final approach to the Eavesdown Docks. As much time as he’s spent here, it almost feels like comin’ home.

“ _Serenity_ is pleased as well.” Mal glances down at the top of his pilot’s head and allows himself a fond smile. Once upon a time her responses to his unspoken thoughts were more than a bit creepifying; now, he finds it hard to imagine life without them. He looks back up in time to see the view outside stabilize as the ship gently touches down.

“Nice,” he compliments River. Her only reply is to reach out and begin flipping switches, shutting things down. A low rumble catches Mal’s attention as the intercom crackles. _“Shuttle One detaching,_ ” Inara states. The rumble increases and then falls off before the shuttle swoops across Mal’s field of view, making for lower atmo. _“Shuttle One is away. See you all in twelve hours.”_

“Be careful _bao bei,_ ” Mal mutters, knowing that she can’t hear him.

“No cause for worry, Captain,” River pipes up. “The time-traveler knows what she is doing.”

Oddly enough, it is a comforting thought. Mal didn’t see the sparring session that River and Helena engaged in this morning, but the memory of her deflecting Jayne’s misguided charge is still fresh in his mind. Clearly, the woman knows how to take care of herself. Add Inara’s own not-inconsiderable skill to the mix, and Mal wonders why he’s even worrying. The pair will handle their task, and that’s that. Meantime, Mal’s got his own business to be worried about. Sighing, he turns on his heel and heads down to the cargo bay.

Minutes later, Mal squints as Zoe pilots the mule out into the bright sunlight. He’d debated about taking the other shuttle, but Greco’s office isn’t quite far enough away to justify the fuel. Besides, Zoe likes piloting the mule, and Mal is glad that he can give her something to enjoy.

It’s a quiet ride, and barely fifteen minutes later Zoe sets the mule down on the landing platform. Greco’s assistant, a small, unassuming man in a suit, is waiting for the pair. “Captain Reynolds, Missus Washburne,” he greets them as they clamber out of the vehicle.

“Isaac,” Mal replies. The little man heads for the building, and Zoe falls into step beside Mal. The walk to Greco’s office is short, and it feels like no time at all until Isaac pushes open the door and steps aside for Mal and Zoe to enter.

“Ah, Malcolm,” Jefferson Greco states. He is standing opposite the door, in front of the window that takes up the entire wall. In the distance, Mal can see a variety of ships landing and taking off from the docks. “And Zoe. Lovely to see you again, my dear. I trust that you are well?”

“Still breathing,” Zoe replies.

Fortunately, Greco takes her bluntness in stride. “Always an accomplishment. Now then,” he moves to take a seat at his desk, motioning for Mal and Zoe to sit across from him, “about your earlier message….” Mal fights a wince as he takes a seat. The wave he’d sent prior to planet fall had been deliberately short on details. “I do hope that you can give me a little more explanation as to why you were unsuccessful.”

_Gos se_ , Mal swears to himself. “Well, ya see, we weren’t the only ones who were after the magnets….”

* * *

 

As the shuttle enters low planetary orbit, Inara is finally able to turn her concentration to her guest. “So what exactly are we doing?”

Helena finally stops analyzing the computer screen and looks over at her. “What did the captain tell you?”

“That you have some way of tracking the Blue Hands, and that you’re reasonably certain they’re located somewhere here on Persephone.”

“Correct, although I must give credit to young Miss Tam for coming up with the location.” Helena glances back at the screen. “I’ve modified the shuttle’s communication system to monitor the frequency of the tracking beacons I’ve planted, and to…” She trails off as a tone begins emanating from the speaker. “Well that didn’t take nearly as long as I expected.” She bends once more over the computer, tapping keys, a look of intense concentration on her face. Some minutes later, she lets out a satisfied “Ha!”

“What have you found?”

In reply, Helena types something else, and a set of coordinates pops up on Inara’s navigation display. “If you would be so kind as to fly us there, Ms. Serra,” the older woman says, “I believe that we’ve found our antagonists’ base of operations.”

As she pilots the shuttle back towards the planet’s surface, Inara can feel herself getting caught up in the thrill of the hunt. Beside her, Helena is clearly in her element, continuing to type commands into the computer and studying the data given back. It doesn’t take long for the coordinates on the screen to turn into a medium-sized skyscraper outside the window. As she approaches the building’s landing platform, Inara spots a very familiar vehicle already parked there. “ _Fei hua.”_

Her tone draws Helena’s attention away from the display. “What is it?”

“That’s the mule,” Inara replies, flying over it and settling the shuttle on the other side. “This must be where Mal and Zoe are meeting with Greco.”

“I thought that Mister Greco hired you all to acquire the magnets for him.”

“He did,” Inara confirms, shutting down the engine.

“Well then,” Helena states, getting to her feet and producing her curious gun, “perhaps he’ll be kind enough to explain why he’s sitting on top of every artifact the Blue Hands have stolen in the last six months.”


	7. Chapter 7

Surprisingly, the pair makes it into the building without apparently tripping any kind of alarm. Then again, Helena reminds herself, Warehouses have always had more than one layer of security. With that in mind, she keeps her custom Tesla drawn and ready in one hand. In the other, she carries a handheld scanner that tracks the signal strength of the homing beacons.

Down two flights of stairs, and the signal is getting stronger. Pausing for a moment, Helena turns to Inara. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the meeting is taking place, would you?”

The Companion shakes her head, holding her own gun at her side. “Mal and Zoe typically conduct the meetings with clients.”

“Right then,” Helena states, poking her head into the hallway. “We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” Slowly, quietly, she begins walking down the hall, keeping an eye on the scanner and an ear open for voices. Midway down the hall, she hears something and freezes, signaling Inara to do the same.

“…so you see, the guys that ambushed us made off with the goods,” Mal’s voice explains. Taking a moment to focus, Helena pinpoints the sound as coming from the door not ten feet away. Moving even more carefully now, Helena creeps forward along the wall until she’s right next to the door, pocketing the scanner. It’s open just enough that she can see a slice of the room beyond: Dark walls, and a small table pushed in one corner.

“I am sorry to hear that, my boy,” an unfamiliar voice says. “Do you have any idea where these gentlemen are now?”

It’s a perfect cue, one that Helena isn’t about to let go to waste. “I don’t know where your henchmen are,” she states, pushing the door fully open and stepping into the room, aiming her gun at the man seated across from Mal and Zoe, “but I do know that the magnets are here in this building.” Movement beside her announces Inara’s presence, and a moment later the Companion’s gun slides into her field of view, pointed in the same direction. If she had thought this through, Helena would have told Inara to cover the door behind them, but it is too late now.

For someone with two guns pointed at him, the man who must be Jefferson Greco is remarkably calm. In fact, there is a gleam of recognition in his eyes as he studies Helena. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he asks, a smile spreading across his face. “It really is you.” A delighted laugh escapes him. “Michael did it, then! He actually did it! _Jing tsai!_ ”

Confusion plain on his face, Mal is looking back and forth from Greco to Helena. “What the ruttin’ hell is going on?”

“Exactly what I would like to know.” The voice, emanating from behind Helena, is older than she remembers.

Actually, Helena shouldn’t be hearing that voice at all. _Given my history, do I really doubt this?_ Taking a deep breath, the time-traveler looks over her shoulder. The two men from the museum stand in the doorway, Teslas drawn, but it is not them that Helena focuses on. The third person, the owner of the voice, is a little taller than Helena remembers, a little curvier. There are no colored streaks in the auburn hair, and the clothes are a more mature, but there is no mistaking that face. “Claudia,” Helena sighs.

Some things have changed, but the smile is the same. “Hi HG. Long time no see.”

* * *

 

Ever since Greco hired the crew for this job, Zoe’s been feeling uneasy. Truth be told, she hasn’t felt easy since Wash died, but something about this particular job smelled from the moment she learned about it. Of all of their new clients, Greco has always felt “off”, like he ain’t telling more than is absolutely necessary. Kinda like Niska, actually, but without the sadistic edge. Zoe is already edgy when the meeting begins, and when Helena barges in Zoe’s entire body tenses, ready for anything.

Inwardly, Zoe is shocked when Helena announces that the magnets are in the building, a feeling that quickly gives way to anger at the way Greco has played them. The fact that Greco appears to know who Helena is only adds to Zoe’s unease. When the Blue Hands appear, it is all she can do to remain seated and not draw her gun. Then she realizes that their guns (since when did they use guns?) are trained on Greco, and relaxes just enough to focus on the woman who accompanies the pair.

Shorter than the men flanking her, she is dressed in tailored dark slacks, white shirt, vest, and tie. The outfit matches the air of authority she projects. Her auburn hair is twisted up at the back of her head and held in place with a pair of chopsticks. Sparkling green eyes peer out of an ageless face. Zoe’s first guess is that the woman is somewhere between 35 and 50 years old, but then Helena breathes, “Claudia.” The woman smiles and replies, “Hi HG. Long time no see,” and suddenly Zoe has to revise her estimate.

The question of how the two women know one another will have to wait, however. Claudia enters the room, looking away from Helena and focusing on the man on the opposite side of the desk. “How about it, Jeff? Care to explain what’s going on?”

Zoe turns back around in time to see the delighted smile slide off of Greco’s face, leaving stone behind. “Explain what, Ms. Donovan? You may be the Caretaker, but I am a Regent. I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“True,” Claudia agrees, drawing level with the quartet on this side of the desk. “But I wonder what your fellow Regents will say when you tell them how you’ve been selling artifacts to the highest bidder since before the U-War.”

Greco makes a grab for something under the desk. Instinctively, Zoe reaches for her gun. Just as her hand touches wood, a double bolt of blue and green lightning erupts from behind her, striking Greco in the chest. With a groan, the man folds in half, landing face-first on his desk.

Training keeps Zoe’s body moving, drawing her gun as she stands and spins to face the group. Helena and one Blue Hand are aiming their peculiar weapons at Greco. The other Blue Hand has been covering Inara; as Zoe rises his aim shifts to her. Zoe brings her own gun up to aim at the man’s face. Total elapsed time since Claudia’s accusation: maybe five seconds.

Silence reigns in the office. Almost predictably, it is Mal who speaks first. “Huh,” he grunts. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe can see him twisting in his seat, looking back and forth from Greco, to Helena and the first Blue Hand, to Zoe and her opponent.

“What just happened?” Inara asks. To a stranger, her voice would sound calm, but Zoe can hear the edge of uncertainty.

“Just a bit of housekeeping,” Claudia answers. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Dennis, Jeff.”

For a moment, Zoe thinks that she is addressing Greco again, but then the Blue Hand she has been facing off with lowers his gun, and she realizes that his name is also Jeff. With a slight nod, Zoe also lowers her piece. Making a note to keep an eye on the man, Zoe turns back to face the group. All guns have been lowered. As Zoe watches, Inara moves a step closer to Mal, so that her leg just touches his. At a nod from Claudia, the Blue Hands, Dennis and Jeff, move to deal with Greco. For a brief moment, Zoe thinks that the man is dead, but he emits a soft groan as he is lifted from his chair. “What will happen to him?” she asks, turning to Claudia.

“He will be dealt with,” Claudia replies. Helena makes a soft noise, and Claudia turns to her. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” the other woman says. “For a moment there you sounded like Mrs. Frederic.”

Claudia’s response to this apparent compliment is to smile widely, lighting up her entire face. “Why thank you, HG.” As Dennis and Jeff remove Greco from the room, she looks around at the others. “I’m sure you all have questions---”

“Um, yeah,” Mal replies.

“—so why don’t you follow me,” Claudia continues smoothly, ignoring the interruption. She turns on her heel and, without waiting to see if they follow, exits the room. Helena follows, and after exchanging quick glances, so do Mal, Inara, and Zoe.

Zoe is too busy memorizing the route they follow to listen to Mal’s fruitless attempts at questioning Claudia. Finally, they exit an elevator into a long hallway, completely empty but for a door at the far end and pairs of slender pillars spaced along its length. Mal has finally given up on questioning, but being Mal he cannot help but reach toward the first pillar they pass. “Don’t touch the bombs,” Claudia admonishes without looking, and Mal hastily retracts his hand.

The door opens at Claudia’s approach with a faint hiss, like an airlock. The woman reaches out to pull it the rest of the way and leads them inside. For the first time in a long time, Zoe feels her chest tighten in amazement. The group is standing on a raised walkway, looking out over a space so massive it disappears over the horizon.

“Welcome,” Claudia says, “to Warehouse 16.”

* * *

 

_Seven months ago_

Brightness pierces Helena’s eyelids, and she flinches. Her agile mind immediately realizes the significance of these facts: She has been de-Bronzed. Slowly, carefully, she opens her eyes, squinting in the light.

Two shapes stand before her, resolving into two men as her eyes focus. “The great HG Wells,” the shorter man states. “It is truly an honor.” He motions, and the taller, thoroughly non-descript man steps forward and offers a hand.

Helena accepts, allowing herself to be led to a chair that stands just off to the side of the Bronzer. Questions buzz through her mind like a swarm of bees. Fortunately, she has some experience in this regard. “What year is it?”

“It is 2517,” he replies. The buzzing in Helena’s mind comes to an abrupt halt. _Five centuries have passed?_ She realizes the man is still speaking. “…Jenkins,” he says. “I’m sure you have many questions, Miss Wells. If you’ll join me in my office, I will do my best to answer them. That is,” his focus shifts to the other man, who has knelt down next to Helena and is taking her pulse, “if that is alright with you, Doctor?” With a nod, the man stands and backs away. Jenkins turns his attention back to Helena, motioning for her to stand. “If you’ll follow me.” He leads Helena through a door into a typical Warehouse aisle. “And,” he continues, “let me be the first to welcome you to Warehouse 15.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Present day_

Apparently, Helena’s mind is never supposed to be at rest.

In her first life, she thought constantly, turning over ideas for inventions and stories. Even once she began working at the Warehouse, her mind never slowed down. If anything, Caturanga encouraged her to think more.

In her second life, her mind was occupied with several tasks. First and foremost had been insinuating herself back into the workings of Warehouse 13. That accomplished, she began to finish piecing together the puzzle of accessing Warehouse 2. Her relationship with Myka was yet another track, one that took considerable time and energy to keep separate from her plans for the Trident, and even life as a regular Warehouse agent.

Now in her third life, she feels that she should be used to this state. After all, Michael Jenkins de-Bronzed her specifically to track down the “thieves” that had been troubling him for months, no small task when humanity now occupied dozens of planets and moons. The fact that he didn’t feel the need to inform her of the existence of a second Warehouse only confirms her earlier judgments of the man as a manipulative, power-hungry little rodent. Since waking up, Helena has often had the distinct feeling that Jenkins knew more about the situation than he let on. Then there are the things that just never added up, like the fact that Jenkins never felt the need to assign Helena a partner/watchdog. Or the fact that, before today, Helena has never met a Regent, or the current Caretaker.

Well, she finally has an explanation for that last item, anyway, Helena thinks as Claudia leads the group into the Warehouse office. Helena’s mind is whirling with too many questions to pay much attention to introductions; even so, a small part of her rejoices when the tall, blonde Agent Amanda Carter is acknowledged as head of 16. But that only brings her back to the most pressing question at hand: _How are there two Warehouses?_

A hand touches her arm, and Helena jumps slightly, startled. Carter, Dennis, and Jeff are leading Captain Reynolds and his crew to a sitting area; the hand on her arm belongs to an amused-looking Caretaker. Before Helena can say anything, Claudia motions to the door. “Come with me.”

Helena follows the girl— _no, not girl, woman_ —back out of the office and down a spiral staircase to the main floor of the Warehouse. “Amanda needs to debrief Reynolds and his crew,” Claudia explains as they start walking, “but you don’t need to be part of that conversation. I imagine you have a few questions.”

“More than a few.” Helena gestures around herself. “The very existence of two Warehouses at the same time….” She catches the pleased look on Claudia’s face. “You had something to do with this, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Claudia teases, and once again she is the eager child who followed Helena around Warehouse 13, demanding to know how things worked and creating incredible solutions of her own. Helena quirks an eyebrow invitingly, and Claudia grins. “Got time for a history lesson?”

Helena levels a mildly exasperated look at the Caretaker, who knows full well that Helena will have no peace until she gets answers to these questions.

Claudia merely grins wider. “Well, you know by now that humanity managed to outgrow Earth…” The story Claudia tells matches up with what Helena has learned about the history of the last five hundred years, with some important points added. Humanity left Earth when the planet was tapped out, heading for the stars. Warehouse 14 occupied several levels of one “generation ship”, but according to Claudia, “There were agents with access to secure artifact storage on all of the ships.”

Out in space, the race found a solar system with planets and moons suitable for terraforming, which they did, beginning with the Central Planets. “Warehouse Fifteen opened for business as soon as Osiris was deemed safe,” Claudia continues, leading Helena deeper into the stacks. “But as humanity continued to spread, it became pretty clear that one Warehouse wouldn’t be enough. So I changed the rules.”

“How?”

“Let’s just say that being Caretaker gives you a certain amount of leverage.” She smiles an enigmatic smile, the one that seems to go hand in hand with the position of Caretaker. “Anyway, the two Warehouses have been up and running for over a century now, with very few problems.”

Helena arches an eyebrow at her. “By ‘problems’ I assume that you mean the fact that the two Warehouses appear to be at war with one another over artifacts?”

Claudia touches her nose, a gesture that Helena last saw during a late-night game of charades at the bed and breakfast half a millennium ago. The light-hearted nature of the gesture is absent from the Caretaker’s voice. “I won’t lie to you, HG, it hasn’t been a pretty time. Things were a bit rough last century, and then when the U War broke out…” She trails off, shaking her head. In silence, she leads Helena down one more aisle, this one ending in a door. A combination is entered in a keypad, and the door swings open to reveal a workshop much like that which Helena once had. Several large tables occupy the majority of the room, strewn with tools and bits and pieces of machinery. One wall is covered in what looks like detailed plans of various buildings and other devices; among other things, Helena thinks she sees the schematics for the old Farnsworths. A door in the back stands ajar, giving Helena a glimpse of the corner of a bed. Claudia’s living area, perhaps?

Helena shakes her head, turning her attention back to Claudia’s story, her mind working at top speed, rearranging the new details until they make some sort of sense. It’s no good; she doesn’t have enough information. “What aren’t you telling me?” Her voice sounds harsh, but she’s only a little sorry. She’s been operating half-blind for months now, and she’s had enough.

Claudia must sense this, because she reverts from mystical Caretaker to the blunt young adult Helena remembers so well. “I need your help, HG. Michael Jenkins has found some way to keep me out of Warehouse Fifteen. You know the Warehouse better than just about anyone, and it likes you. If anyone can help me figure out what he’s done, it’s you.”

Her words set Helena’s mind whirling once more. Part of her starts chewing over the puzzle Claudia has just handed her, but that is quickly overwhelmed by anger. And she snaps. “And why should I want to do that?” Helena holds up a hand to cut off Claudia’s reply. “No, it is your turn to listen. Do you remember why I bothered to find the Trident? Why I went to Yellowstone?” Claudia nods. “Ever since I woke up in this century,” Helena continues, “I have been searching for proof that humanity has finally matured. Maybe we couldn’t stay on Earth, but the fact that we now have the technology to travel through space and terraform new worlds gave me hope that maybe, just maybe we had finally gotten past all of the arguing and fighting and dying over things that in the grand scheme of things don’t matter much at all. But no.” Although she manages to keep her volume low, Helena’s voice now shakes with her rage. “Instead I find that humans are continuing as they always have: Coveting what someone else has and doing whatever is necessary to get it. Starting wars over trifles. Tampering with things that they don’t understand.”

Claudia’s eyes flash at that last, but she doesn’t take the bait. When she does speak, her voice is still measured, calm. “What do you intend to do about it?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Helena smiles at the undisguised confusion on the other woman’s face. “I will pay Captain Reynolds for his trouble, and then I will find a place of my own, whether on a planet, moon, or station. Perhaps I shall take a leaf out of Reynolds’ book and buy a ship of my own. Either way, I am done with the Warehouse.”

An uneasy silence follows this last statement. Helena can feel the tension in her body, the way her muscles tighten in response to the perceived threat. With an effort of will, she forces herself to take a deep breath, calm down, loosen up. She may be angry, but she still needs a clear head to deal with the situation, to be ready for any counter-argument Claudia may make.

An indeterminate time later, Claudia finally speaks. “That’s your choice, HG.” There is an undertone of anger in her voice, so subtle that someone who doesn’t know her would likely miss it. “But before you go, I have something to show you.” She motions for Helena to turn around.

Reluctantly, the time-traveller does so. Partially hidden by the still open door is a statue.

A _bronze_ statue.

A bronze statue that looks heartbreakingly familiar….

Helena is unaware of walking the intervening distance. All she knows is that she is suddenly standing in front of the statue, admiring striking features that even the cold metal cannot dull. And even though she knows it’s impossible, Helena could almost swear that Myka Bering is studying her, as well.

_Well that’s a bloody unfair tactic. Who did this to her? Why did she allow it? She is just as beautiful as I remember. Not sporting at all. What happened to her? Why is she here? How did this happen?_

“That’s a bit of a long story,” Claudia replies. With a jolt, Helena realizes she asked that last question aloud. Sounds behind her indicate the Caretaker’s movement; when Claudia speaks again, her voice is closer, almost directly behind Helena. “I don’t think I’m the one to tell it.”

The statement sends another jolt through Helena. Surely Claudia can’t mean…. Helena finally tears her eyes away from Myka’s face and sees the headphones that cover the bronze statue’s ears, and the wire that leads to a boxy device sitting on a table close by. Claudia moves past her to stand by the device. “This is--”

“Barry Seal’s aviation radio,” Helena breathes. Memories rush up, overwhelming… _A voice in the darkness, a small bright spot in the otherwise enveloping black…._ She blinks, forcing the memories down. Claudia faces her, one eyebrow raised in question. Helena merely returns the look, giving nothing away. They hold that pose for a long moment before Claudia’s attention suddenly shifts. Her head tilts to one side and her eyes focus on something Helena can’t see. “Is something wrong?”

“Excuse me for a bit,” the Caretaker replies, her eyes focusing briefly on Helena before pushing past and exiting the room.

For a microsecond, Helena is tempted to follow. Then her eyes return to the radio, and the urge disappears as quickly as it appeared. She’s never been on this side of the artifact’s use, but it’s not hard to figure out. Flipping the appropriate switches only takes moments. Willing her hands to stop shaking, Helena picks up the handset and brings it to her mouth. “Myka?” Silence. “Myka?” More silence. Helena looks at the artifact, wondering if she’s flipped an incorrect switch. “Myka?” she tries again.

_“Helena?”_


	9. Chapter 9

_No good deed goes unpunished._ Mal first heard that phrase as a boy on the ranch. He’d helped nurse a valuable colt through a bout of pneumonia, and the animal was doing well. Then the fence broke, the colt wandered outside the paddock and broke its neck when it fell into a nearby ravine. As they retrieved the body, one of the ranch hands, Adam, muttered the phrase under his breath. As he gets older, Mal sees more and more examples of just how true it can be.

Take, for example, the face that he didn’t toss the Tam siblings off his ship the instant he found out they were wanted by the Alliance. He didn’t even try to turn them in for the substantial reward. Sure, the Doc has proven his worth as a medic, and River’s become a pretty decent pilot. But if he hadn’t allowed them to stay, he’d never have heard of a planet called Miranda. If he’d never learned about what exactly cased the death of the inhabitants of Miranda and the creation of the Reavers, he’d never have felt the urge to tell the rest of the ‘verse. That urge had cost him a pilot and Zoe a husband. So Mal has pretty much given up on good deeds. Of course, if this latest set of jobs is any indication, he may have to give up on payin’ work, too….

He’s not sure how long it’s been since Donovan led him and his people down here, but it must be at least an hour since Agent Carter ushered him, Zoe, and Inara into seats and began questioning them about their work for Greco. He’s also not quite sure when Helena and Donovan disappeared. He _thinks_ they entered the… is this room an office? From his seat in one of several chairs grouped around a low table, Mal takes another look around. One whole corner of the space is devoted to an impressive computer array. Next to this is a long table piled high with not only handheld computers but also actual books and rolls of paper. The wall above the table is one large window, which must look out over the Warehouse but is currently blocked by a set of metal shutters. Then there’s this conversation area, which takes up most of one wall. Like Mal, Inara, Zoe, and Carter sit in chairs, but the two not-Blue Hands (What did Donovan call them? Jeff and Dennis?) sit on a sofa that’s pushed right against the wall.

To his left, Inara’s voice pulls Mal out of his musings. “I don’t understand. If Mr. Greco knows about the Warehouse, why would he hire us to retrieve these artifacts?”

“Personal monetary gain,” Carter replies. “As you know, artifacts are worth a fair amount to the right person. And it was easier for Greco to hire you to retrieve them than to try to remove them from the Warehouse.”

“What will happen to Greco?” Mal can’t help asking. _Will my crew still get paid?_

“As I told Ms. Washburne,” Donovan’s voice states from behind him, “he will be dealt with. But let’s talk about you, Captain.”

If Mal hadn’t been living with the Little Albatross for over a year, Donovan’s sudden reappearance might have startled him into drawing his gun. As it is, he manages to keep his seat and only mutters, “ _Ai ya,”_ under his breath.

“After all,” Donovan continues, striding into his field of view and lowering herself into an empty chair, “Jeff won’t be paying your crew for services rendered any time soon. And you’ve still got a ship to fuel and mouths to feed.”

“Helena…” Mal starts to say, but stops, mulling it over. Helena hired him and his crew to help her find the not-Blue Hands. They had, hadn’t they? “Helena’ll be payin’.”

“Yes, but how much? If I understand correctly, the job she hired you for didn’t last all that long.”

“Good thing we negotiated the fee up front then.”

Donovan tilts her head, acknowledging the point. “Either way, you’re still looking for a new job, yes?”

“Mayhaps. Why? You hirin’?”

“Possibly.” Donovan studies him for a long moment, and Mal has to fight the urge to squirm under her gaze. “How much did HG tell you about the Warehouse?”

“A bit. Pretty sure she said there was only one, though.” Mal glances at Inara and Zoe, who both nod assent.

“Things change.”

_True enough._ “What’s the job?”

“Transport. Possibly infiltration and/or armed backup.”

“Nothin’ we can’t handle. What’s the target?”

“Warehouse Fifteen.”

“ _Shuh muh?_ ”

“Traditionally, the Warehouse maintains political neutrality. That policy has been harder to enforce since the split. Even before the U War, there were rumblings that the Warehouse should become part of the official government. Michael Jenkins, the head of Fifteen, has ignored this policy completely. He supported Unification and continues to work with and for the central government.”

Mal has to give the woman credit; she knows just which buttons to push. “So why don’t you just fire him?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Never is. I’ll be needin’ a bit more information before we even consider the job. Been burned one time too many.” _And the last thing I need’s another powerful enemy like Niska._

Donovan tilts her head again. “As Caretaker, I should be able to come and go from the Warehouse as I please. However, Jenkins has found some way of keeping me out of Fifteen.”

“Doubt we can be of any help with that.”

“As I said, your primary job would be transport, although a few extra guns and eyes inside couldn’t hurt.”

Mal can’t help noticing the way Jeff and Dennis bristle at that last statement. “Say we take the job. Jenkins gets kicked out; you get Warehouse Fifteen back under control. What then? Think the Alliance will just sit back and let you take away all those toys without a fuss?”

“I’m sorry. Unless you’re accepting the job, I’m not answering any more questions.”

On the one hand, Mal wants nothing more than to take the job, just to bloody the Alliance’s nose and take a fantastic resource away from them. On the other hand, he really doesn’t like taking a job with so little intel. Last time the crew went haring off after a juicy tidbit, he’d lost more than he’d thought possible…

As much as it might have once irked him to even think it, it’s times like this that Mal misses Book. In the short time Mal had known the man, the preacher had become a voice for Mal’s conscience, something to give Mal just a little hint of the direction he had to go. It could be annoying in the extreme, especially when it cast doubts on a desperately needed job that would keep food on the table and fuel in the tanks. Yet sometimes, it was just what Mal needed. And sometimes just the act of arguin’ with the man was enough to get Mal’s mind working and deciding. Too bad the Shepherd is dead and gone… With a jolt, Mal realizes that there is someone he can ask. Maybe he’s only known her for a day, but near as he can tell she’s been nothin’ but honest with him and his. “What’s Helena got to say about this?”

He’d thought he’d surprise her. He has, but it’s not the show he was half-hoping for. One eyebrow arches, and her jaw lowers just a touch. She doesn’t answer immediately, and Mal senses rather than hears someone approaching him from behind. “I say, ‘when do we leave?’”


	10. Chapter 10

Not for the first time since he set foot on the ship, Simon finds himself thinking that the name _Serenity_ has to be one of the greatest misnomers of all time. In the early days, he thought that this might be his fault; after all, he booked passage knowing full well that he was a wanted man. It didn’t take him long to realize that barely-controlled chaos was standard operating procedure, at least while a job was in progress.

Barely thirty minutes ago Mal commed the ship to say they had a new job. As Simon enters the cargo bay, he wonders just how chaotic things will get. Kaylee stands at the hoist controls, watching as the mule rises towards the ceiling. Zoe and Jayne hover nearby, shifting some of the ubiquitous crates and keeping an eye on the conversation happening out on the ramp. A clatter above him draws Simon’s attention; he looks up in time to see Inara and Helena descending the stairs. The latter moves quickly towards the ramp. “Any idea what’s going on?” Simon asks the Companion, nodding toward the ramp.

“I don’t think our new employer’s subordinates are too happy with the situation,” Inara replies. She starts drifting that direction, and Simon follows along.

On the ramp, Mal stands next to a shorter, dark-haired woman. Across from them stand two men dressed identically in dark suits and ties. While not quite as tall as Mal, they still have several inches on the woman. Yet as Simon approaches he can feel the authority radiating from the small figure, a feeling that the suited men clearly share. “…so just unload the crates and get back to the Warehouse,” the stranger tells them. “Agent Carter is expecting you.” Clearly unhappy, the men turn and head for a hovercraft parked just beyond the ramp’s end. At a wave from Mal, Jayne follows. “Hey,” Kaylee’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

Belatedly, Simon realizes he’s drawn level with her. “Hey,” he replies. “Need help with anything?”

“Nope. Just gotta get the crates stowed when Jeff and Dennis bring ‘em aboard, and then we’re good to go.”

“Jeff and Dennis?”

Kaylee nods to where the two strangers are working with Helena and Jayne to unload a rather large crate from the hovercraft. “The Purple Hands. I guess they wanted to come with us, but Miss Donovan’s told ‘em it ain’t happenin’.”

There are times when Kaylee sounds like River, and it worries Simon ever so slightly. He pushes it aside for the moment. His next question dies unspoken as Mal approaches. “Doc, Kaylee, this here is Miss Donovan. Miss Donovan, Doc and Kaylee.”

Up close, Simon estimates Donovan to be the same height as River. While not as slender as his sister’s dancer build, Donovan carries herself with a similar ease. She also radiates power, and age. In fact, Simon recently felt something similar from Helena; in a distant part of his mind, Simon wonders if this woman will also claim to be a time-traveller. “It’s nice to meet you,” he offers.

“Likewise,” Donovan replies. “I--” Her next words are cut off by the sound of Jayne’s boots clomping up the ramp. A moment later the mercenary, carrying a large crate over his shoulder, barges past the group without so much as a _shuh muh_. Mal ducks out of the way, pushing Donovan aside in the process. Behind Jayne, Jeff and Dennis maneuver another crate on a power dolly. The size and shape of the container remind Simon of the time Mal received the “corpse” of a fellow Browncoat. Bringing up the rear of the odd little parade, Helena carries a medium duffel and a large leather satchel. She drops the satchel at Donovan’s feet before going to supervise Jeff and Dennis as they unload the crate. That task is barely begun before a loud crash sends everyone’s eyes towards Jayne. The crate the big mercenary carried in lies on its side at his feet. “Woops,” he says. It doesn’t sound like he means it at first. Then Helena rises from her crouch next to the larger box and moves at a brisk walk towards him. Simon can’t see her expression from where he stands, but Jayne’s carefree features rearrange themselves into something resembling contrition as the woman kneels to check the crate and its contents. As she rights the crate, Simon can make out the sound of her voice, but not the words. Whatever she says has the peculiar effect of making Jayne squirm like a little boy caught doing something wrong. A soft noise draws his attention back to Donovan, who watches the scene with something like a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “Some things never change,” she murmurs.

 _Yep,_ Simon thinks as he sighs, _no serenity to be found here._

* * *

 

Darkness surrounds her.

Most of the time, Myka Ophelia Bering can ignore the ever-present, unchanging blackness. It doesn’t take much effort to imagine that she is back in her bed at Leena’s, drifting in that half-awake, half-asleep state that sometimes happens before the alarm goes off.

Here, though, there’s no steady _beep beep beep_ to wake her fully. No light greets her when she opens her eyes. Actually, she’s never been entirely certain that she _can_ open her eyes. She closed them before Bronzing, and while it feels like her eyelids are moving, she’s reasonably certain that they too are frozen in place while her mind supplies some sort of phantom sensations.

It’s not so bad, for the most part. She can get lost in her own thoughts, her mind journeying to other places and other times. Memories or imagination supply sensation, and hours pass without her remembering what she has become. Inevitably, though, something will trigger her awareness, and she suddenly becomes conscious of the fact that all she can see is black, and that she can’t actually move. And it’s a little scary, too, because she’s never quite sure when her musings give way to dreams. Maybe she has been asleep all this time….

She remembers once, a long time ago, working up the nerve to ask Helena what the experience of being Bronzed was like. The older woman had studied her for a long moment before replying, “Frustrating,” and changing the subject. That was before Yellowstone.

 _Not today_. With an effort, Myka steers herself away from that particular thought. That section of Memory Lane is an emotional rollercoaster, and Myka doesn’t feel like dealing with it right now. Instead, she begins wondering what’s going on outside. The one real bright spot in this existence right now, the thing that lets her know that this isn’t just some insane dream, are the times when Claudia’s voice rings through her head, relaying news, asking advice, or just visiting after another long day. It’s thanks to Claud that Myka knows exactly how much time has passed, and all that has happened.

Of course, there are also times when Myka worries that those conversations are nothing more than dreams. After all, there hasn’t been a lot of research done on what happens to the human mind when it’s isolated in this manner for such a long span of time. It’s entirely possible that she has crossed the line from imagining to hallucination. Today’s conversation with Helena certainly seems to support that theory. After all, Helena was re-Bronzed following Yellowstone, two whole years before Myka herself became a statue. Given what almost happened, Myka just can’t imagine a situation where the Regents would allow Helena to once more walk among the general population, no matter how many centuries have passed. And even if the inventor has been returned to the land of the living, why hasn’t she, Myka, been given the same opportunity? Something to ask Claudia, the next time they talk.

_“Myka?”_

Speak of the devil. “Claudia.” She thinks she hears the other sigh, but has too much on her mind to acknowledge it. “Guess who I talked to today.”

“ _A beautiful time-traveller slash inventor_ ,” the other replies easily. Claudia never sounds like the Caretaker during these conversations; as she once explained to Myka, it felt good to have one person with whom she could speak normally. She’s also clearly not surprised by Myka’s declaration.

“You knew Helena was awake?” Myka half asks, half demands, trying to ignore the whining tone in her voice. “How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me? Why am I--”

 _“Slow down, Myka,”_ Claudia interrupts. _“Give me a chance here. First, I didn’t know until today that Helena was awake.”_

“But you suspected,” Myka accuses.

Another sigh. _“Remember when I told you a few months ago that Jeff and Dennis reported several run-ins with a new player? Apparently, Michael got sick of losing artifacts to Sixteen, so he de-Bronzed Helena to track down and retrieve the artifacts they’d supposedly stolen.”_ She pauses for a breath. _“I admit I started to suspect who we were dealing with when we found the first tracker on an artifact, but I didn’t know any way to confirm it. Half of the Regents still won’t speak to me, and I don’t know that Michael is even in touch with the half that do. So yes, I suspected that HG was back, but I didn’t know until this afternoon.”_

“But why didn’t you tell me about your suspicions?”

_“Get your hopes up when it might just be my overactive imagination? What kind of a friend would I be if I did that?”_

Okay, so she has a point, but Myka isn’t ready to give up on her rant just yet. “It still would’ve been nice to know about the possibility before I start hearing the voice of a woman I thought was a bronze statue!”

_“Things moved a little faster than I thought they would. I’m sorry, okay?”_

And just like that, the balloon of Myka’s anger deflates. “It’s okay, Claud. It’s just… I thought that maybe I’d finally gone crazy. That maybe I’ve been asleep and dreaming all this time.”

There’s another pause. _“Geez, Myka, I’m sorry.”_ Claudia’s tone conjures an image of the girl standing with her head down, hands in her pockets, scuffing a toe on the floor. Myka wishes that she could hug the girl to show her that she, Myka, isn’t mad anymore. However, there’s still the matter of her being encased in metal.

“Claud, if Helena’s out, why am I still Bronzed? I thought I said…”

 _“I know Myka, and I’m saying sorry again. But the fact of the matter is that I don’t have access to the Bronzer anymore.”_ Even as Claudia says it, Myka begins mentally kicking herself. She should have known that! _“As soon as I’m back in control of Fifteen, your de-Bronzing will be the first thing I take care of. Well, one of the first---”_

Her choice of words catches Myka’s attention. “What do you mean, as soon as you’re back in control?”

 _“Didn’t I tell you where we are? I guess not. You and I are currently in the hold of a ship named_ Serenity _, headed for Osiris. HG agreed to help me take back the Warehouse.”_


	11. Chapter 11

At _Serenity’s_ top speed, the trip from Persephone to Osiris takes just over a week. Claudia and Helena spend the majority of that time working out a plan of attack and training the crew for their roles in same. It surprises Helena how easily she and Claudia have fallen back into something resembling a good working relationship; she would not have been surprised to learn that her actions at Yellowstone had permanently altered the other woman’s opinions of her. And there is the memory of their less-than-happy reunion in this century. Then again, this isn’t the eager teenager that used to follow Helena ‘round the Warehouse, begging to help with her latest project. This woman has literally centuries of experience in dealing with people and caring for one of the greatest archives in humanity’s history.

These skills frequently make an appearance over the course of the trip. While Helena has the more recent experience there, it is Claudia who provides essential information about Warehouse Fifteen, such as the location of the Archives. Helena may be the one to suggest using a decoy captain and ship, but Claudia is the one who convinces Mal and Inara that the Companion is the right person for the job. Actually, Claudia gets along well with most of the crew from the start. Kaylee, in particular, is thrilled to have another mechanically-inclined person around, and spends a happy afternoon walking both Claudia and Helena through the workings of _Serenity._

Even with all of the planning going on, the crew and their passengers still have some downtime. Helena makes a point of talking with Myka at least once a day, and knows that Claudia does the same. Two days out, a small noise draws Helena’s attention as she shuts down the radio; looking up, she spots River lying facedown on the catwalk above, peering down through the grating. Even at that distance, Helena can spot the wonder on the girl’s face. “Shall I introduce you?” she calls up. River shakes her head, but thereafter whenever Helena talks to Myka the Reader is never far away.

In addition to talking with Myka and planning, Helena keeps up with her workout routine. River frequently spars with her; surprisingly, Jayne is also a willing partner. The day after River first observes Helena talking to Myka, the hold is carefully cleared so that the crew can play a game of their own invention called hoopball. Helena watches at first, but soon enough River and Kaylee coax her into joining them so that the teams are evenly matched. By the time the second game is over, Helena feels relaxed in a way she hasn’t since Christina lived.

Four days away from Osiris, the group begins to make their final preparations. With the help of Helena and River, Kaylee spends time making cosmetic alterations to the second shuttle, including changing the registration number to match the fictional ship they’ll be using. Meanwhile, Claudia goes over maps of Warehouse Fifteen with Mal and Inara. She also creates the false ID records for both Inara and her ship. Simon, having not much else to do, makes sure the infirmary is ready for any possible emergency and then joins the group working on the shuttle. Jayne spends several days preparing all of the weapons he plans to bring. Zoe studies the maps with Mal and Inara, and spends more than a few shifts at the helm so River is free to help with the shuttle.

And suddenly, the shuttle is done. Inara’s fake ID is ready to go. Mal and the others know their parts of the main plan and the three contingencies. Helena contacts Jenkins to let him know that she will arrive in the morning. And the waiting begins.

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Helena manages a couple hours’ sleep before a nightmare wakes her. Heart pounding, she sits up in her bunk. The ship’s air cools her sweaty skin as she takes deep breaths, trying to purge the image of Myka engulfed in flames from her mind. It takes a few minutes, but her pulse and breathing do slowly return to normal. Her mind, however, refuses to quiet down. She knows several ways to deal with this phenomenon, and so, lying back down, she begins running through every detail of tomorrow’s plan. Some time later, she realizes that she’s mentally going in circles and opens her eyes. Clearly, sleep won’t be returning anytime soon. Sitting up, she reaches for a warmer shirt and pulls it on. Barefoot, she pads over to the door and exits her room.

She pauses every so often as she makes her way to the cargo bay, listening for any sign that someone else might be awake. No sounds reach her other than the background hum of the ship’s systems; everyone else apparently has no trouble sleeping. The bay’s lights are dimmed for the night, but Helena can still see well enough to make her way to the corner where Myka and the radio stand. She barely looks as she flips the switches to start up the ancient machine and picks up the handset. “Myka?” She’s careful to keep her voice low; Mal and Inara sleep in the latter’s shuttle, after all, and she has no idea how far sound can carry in this large open space.

 _“Helena,”_ the other replies. _“What’s going on? Have we landed yet?”_

A smile tugs at the corner of Helena’s mouth. “Not yet. It’s the middle of the night.”

Myka’s voice immediately takes on a worried tone. _“Why aren’t you sleeping?”_

“My mind won’t turn off,” Helena responds, taking a seat on the cushion Kaylee had thoughtfully set next to the radio’s crate. “You know I rarely get more than a few hours’ rest a night.”

 _“Nice to know that some things haven’t changed.”_ Myka’s words call forth a flood of images and related questions, reminding Helena of just how much _has_ changed in her too-long life. _“Helena?”_

The voice yanks Helena back to the present. “I’m here, darling,” she replies, shaking her head. Her gaze focuses again on the metallic features of one of the few people she ever truly cared about. One of the many questions comes swimming back to the front of her mind, and before she can overthink it she asks, “Why did they Bronze you?” For several long moments she only hears the faint hiss of static. She almost asks again when Myka finally replies.

_“Because I asked them to.”_

* * *

 

_Warehouse 13, South Dakota, USA 2012_

The sun never shines inside the Warehouse. Nor are there ever any large crowds of people around. Yet somehow the place feels even more dark and deserted in the middle of the night. She could have picked any time for this to happen, but somehow Myka feels this time is the most appropriate. She had a lovely day with her family, and now she finally gets to rest.

“Myka?”

Well, not quite yet. Middle of the night or not, she still has one thing left to do. “Sorry Abigail. What was the question?”

Seated in an old leather chair Claudia dug up somewhere and dragged down here to the Bronze Sector, Dr. Abigail Cho calmly repeats, “I said I need you to formally state your reasons for wanting this, and your final instructions.”

Myka can’t stop the small sigh that escapes her. She’s been seeing Abigail for almost a year and a half now, and she knows that the other woman has to abide by Warehouse regulations. Just as she does. She looks directly at the digital camera Abigail holds. “I wish to be Bronzed because I feel that I can no longer satisfactorily perform my duties as a Warehouse agent…” Unbidden, images of the past two years flash before her eyes. Her return to the Warehouse following the retrieval of Shakespeare’s lost folio. Her discovery, several weeks later, of the re-Bronzed HG Wells. Weeks of sneaking visits to the Bronze Sector, spending time talking to the statue. The time Claudia discovered her there, and promised to keep the secret. The case of Joshua’s trumpet, when Artie formally revealed HG’s presence and allowed the use of Barry Seal’s aviation radio so that Myka and Pete could question the inventor about her hand in the initial investigation. Claudia revealing her “creative inventory” so that the radio stayed in the Bronze Sector, allowing Myka to continue actually speaking with HG. Sykes’ botched attempt to access the Warehouse. The many successful snag-bag-tags, and the occasional unsuccessful one. Watching the rest of her team, her family, grow and change. Artie’s continued relationship with Dr. Calder, culminating in the announcement of their engagement just two weeks ago. Claudia finding her way as Caretaker-in-training and continuing to perform astounding leaps in Warehouse technology. Steve, the newest member of the team, becoming a great partner for Claudia and a help to Leena in her work. And of course, Pete, her partner, her brother. The giant man-child who appears to be finally growing up somewhat, thanks to his relationship with Deb Staley, a woman who inadvertently discovered the truth of the Warehouse and is working on joining the ranks of the Regents. Myka’s family. Her wonderful, crazy family, who continue to grow, improve, move forward. And she, Myka Ophelia Bering, is stuck.

She’s not sorry that she returned to the Warehouse. Far from it. She honestly doesn’t know if she’d have lasted this long if she’d stayed at the bookstore. She’s only told this to Abigail, but all of her life she’d felt like she’d been looking for a place like the Warehouse. A place that could challenge her physically and mentally, a place where she could make a life for herself, a cause to believe in. As a young adult, she’d thought the Secret Service was that place, that cause. It wasn’t until she walked into the Warehouse that she realized how wrong she had been. The Warehouse provided that challenge, that family. Leaving for Colorado Springs had been physically painful; the bookstore, once a place of happiness, felt like a recurring dream. At least the Warehouse and her family there give her a reason to get up in the morning, to keep going. After all, the world will always need saving from artifacts. But every day she can’t help but think about HG, Helena, whom she met because of the Warehouse. While Artie may have introduced her to this world of endless wonder, it was Helena who showed her just how endless that wonder could be. It was Helena who kept pushing her, needling her, breaking down the walls around her heart. It was Helena who betrayed her. And it is Helena who has helped her heal as much as she has.

But that healing, achieved via radio, can only go so far. And Myka has spent the last two years feeling more and more left behind by her family. They all have someone in their lives right now, giving them a purpose, a reason for going on. All she has is the job, and it’s not enough. The constant pattern of inventory, travelling to far-flung corners of the world, snag-bag-tag, and travelling back to the Warehouse has become a chore. As the years wear on, she’s realized that her reason for being part of the Warehouse is stuck in the Bronze Sector, relegated back to the history books. So Myka made a request to the Regents. A month later, they’ve finally agreed.

Neither of her families were happy with the decision. She told her parents and Tracy that she’d be going undercover for an unspecified length of time. Her Warehouse family, on the other hand, got the truth. She told them right after making the request, knowing that she wanted to square things with them before leaving, and there was also a chance the Regents might call on them to answer questions. Their initial reactions ranged from shock and anger (Pete) to quiet acceptance (Claudia). Now, while they may not agree, they at least support her. So today she spent a lovely day with them at the B&B, and her final memories of them are happy.

“…and so I feel that this is the best course of action,” she concludes. “My final instructions are written here,” she holds up an envelope, “and are entrusted to the care of Claudia Donovan.” She looks up to meet Abigail’s eye. “Good?”

Abigail nods and turns the camera off. “Good. Mrs. Frederic--”

“Is here,” the voice of the Caretaker states from behind Myka. Myka barely jumps as she turns to face the older woman. It’s nice to know that some things just don’t change. “Whenever you’re ready, Agent Bering,” Mrs. Frederic continues, motioning to the open Bronzer.

Myka enters the small chamber. “Thank you, Irene.”

“You’re welcome, Myka.”

The door swings shut. Taking a last look at the Warehouse, Myka clasps her hands in front of her. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes. The Bronzer hisses. Her skin gets very hot then very cold. And darkness surrounds her.


	12. Chapter 12

_Present day_

Michael Jenkins sits in his office at Warehouse 15. Ostensibly he is reading through a report filed by one of his agents. In fact, he’s been looking at the same screen for the last fifteen minutes without taking in any of it. Any second now... Sure enough, he hears the distinctive sound of the outer office door opening. “Michael?” a familiar voice calls.

“In my office,” he replies, his tone deliberately steady. She only calls him by his first name to get a rise out of him; if he doesn’t react, she’ll eventually stop. Or so he tells himself. He turns away from his monitor and stands as two women step into the room. “Agent Wells,” he greets the one on the right before looking at the other. “And this is?”

“Serra Joel, captain of the _Downeaster Alexa,_ ” she introduces herself. No taller than Wells, she wears a green shirt over dark pants tucked into black boots. The whole ensemble is covered by a brown duster, and Michael carefully schools his expression. Of course Wells would hire a former Browncoat…

 _Steady on,_ he tells himself. _The war is over, and they lost._ “Charmed,” he tells Joel, noticing the gun that rides on her thigh. She notices the direction of his gaze, pushes back her coat, and hooks her thumbs into her belt. _Steady,_ he reminds himself. He turns back to Wells, his eyes settling on the silver pouch she holds in her right hand. “Is that…?”

She takes a short step forward and deposits the static bag on his desk. “Mesmer’s magnets, as requested.”

“And our friends?” he queries as he carefully opens the bag to check its contents.

“Sadly long gone.”

He looks back up at her, arching one eyebrow. “And they just left these behind?”

“Not quite. I believe I found their warehouse,” his heart nearly stops, but then she continues, “but the two gentlemen themselves weren’t there. I broke in, retrieved what was ours, and left.”

“And the magnets are all that you brought?” Michael shakes his head as he reseals the bag. “I find myself disappointed, Agent Wells. I expected more from you.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Her words grab his attention and he looks up to find her custom Tesla pointed at him. He barely shifts a step before green lightning engulfs him.

* * *

 

Michael Jenkins hits the ground and Inara feels a slight loosening in her chest. One step down, who knows how many to go. “Tie him up,” Helena instructs. Pulling a coil of rope from where she hid it against her back, Inara moves around the desk to do just that. As she works, she can hear the sounds of Helena moving around the room, looking for the key they need. Inara finishes tying Jenkins’ ankles and moves up to his wrists when she hears an odd grinding noise followed by a small exclamation from Helena. Poking her head up over the desk, she sees the older woman standing by an opening in the wall, examining an odd metal object. _Focus, Inara._ She drops back down and finishes her own task just as Helena comes around the desk. “Need any help?”

“No,” Inara replies, giving the knot one final tug and rising to her feet. “All done.” Helena nods her approval and turns for the door, ready to move on. Inara starts to follow, but something on Jenkins’ desk catches her eye. Next to the monitor, a small red light has started blinking. “Helena?” The other turns back. “Is that…?” Inara motions to the light and trails off as she sees the look on Helena’s face.

“Bollocks!” The word is unfamiliar, but Helena’s tone is not. “Call Jayne and Zoe. We’re going to need them.”

* * *

 

“How’s it coming, Captain?”

“Just about finished,” Mal replies, wishing for the millionth time that Donovan could do this part herself. Standing hunched over a gutted security panel in a dimly lit alley on a Core planet while his employer looked over his shoulder… _How in the black did I wind up here???_ Actually, the original plan had called for Donovan to disable the security panel, but when she touched it she froze with a funny look on her face. Mal let her be for a moment, hoping this was part of the plan, but when he noticed her skin paling at an alarming rate he stepped in and literally yanked her hand away. It took Donovan a few moments to recover from whatever had happened (which she still hadn’t explained) before she told him that he’d have to do this part. So here he stands, wires and circuits and who-knows-what-all hanging out of the wall in front of him, following her directions and wishing mightily that Kaylee were here. But no, the plan called for Kaylee, Doc, and River to stay on the ship in case they needed a fast flight off-planet.

“Now,” Donovan’s voice breaks into his musings, “you see that red wire there?” Her finger reaches out and points. “You need to--”

 _“Jayne. Zoe. We need you.”_ Inara’s voice issues from the communicator clipped to Mal’s shirt, causing him to jump. He’s not used to being able to communicate with the crew during a groundside job, and the tone of Inara’s voice worries him. He quickly extracts a hand and presses the switch. “’Nara? What’s wrong?”

 _“Nothing we can’t handle,”_ she replies. He’d like to get more details, but then Zoe’s voice cuts in. _“On our way.”_

“Focus, Captain,” Donovan tells him. Swallowing some choice swears, he lets go of the communicator and returns to the mess of wires in front of him. “Now follow that red wire….”

Several moments later, the door finally opens. Relieved, Mal steps away from the panel and swipes at his forehead. “ _Juhguh jee hua jun kuhpah!”_

“But the crew has survived worse.” River’s voice speaks from behind him, and this time Mal does jump.

“ _Ai ya,_ Little Albatross!” he can’t help swearing as he spins to face her. “Thought you were supposed to stay on the ship!”

“Her talents are needed here,” the girl replies. Mal can’t argue with that; if Helena and Inara had to call for Jayne and Zoe then something has gone wrong. Instead he turns to face Donovan.

“Know where you’re hidin’?” She arches an eyebrow at him, like the old school marm used to back on Shadow. He huffs a sigh. “Never mind. C’mon Lil’ Alba--” Mal turns again to find River already stepping through the door. “—tross.” Sighing again, he raises his gun and follows her.

* * *

 

According to the original plan, Inara and Helena would have left the knocked-out Michael Jenkins in his office and simply made their way to the Archives, relying on Helena to bluff their way past any agents they might run into en route. Captain Reynolds would keep an eye on the back door to ensure that no one came in or went out that way without their knowledge. Once Helena undid whatever Jenkins had done to keep the Caretaker out, Claudia would be able to enter and re-gain control over things. Ideally, all of this would be accomplished before anyone in Fifteen knew what had happened.

Of course, that’s no longer possible. Helena doesn’t know if Jenkins tripped some sort of silent alarm or if one of the crew inadvertently set it off; either way, it’s time for the backup plan. Jayne and Zoe responded quickly to Inara’s call; after a hurried conference they and Helena departed for the Archives. Inara has been left in the office with a Tesla Helena took from an agent’s desk and instructions to simply stun any non-crew that come to investigate the alarm.

As the trio work their way through the myriad aisles, a small part of Helena’s mind still has energy to spare to wonder over the differences between Warehouses. Ever since she woke up in this century, Helena has felt that Fifteen is, simply put, _odd._ Compared to Twelve and Thirteen, it seems almost too neat and tidy, too clean. In contrast to the aged industrial appearance of the first two Warehouses she knew, Fifteen looks like something out of one of the science fiction movies Claudia and Pete used to force her to watch. Smooth, light gray metal walls and pillars support miles of similar shelving, all of it pulsing in time with the flashing amber lights of the alarm. Instead of the rather haphazard storage methods of its predecessors, the artifacts here sit in orderly rows, some hidden in specially made boxes and crates designed to dampen more troublesome properties. Knowing what she knows now, she suspects that this design is in part due to the Warehouse’s location on a Central Planet; Sixteen felt much more like its Earthly predecessors.

Orderly storage or not, she still cautions her companions to keep an eye out. Artifacts don’t always behave like you think they will, and there may be agents around… Stopping at the end of the aisle, she holds up a hand so her companions do likewise. Jayne mumbles something under his breath, but she ignores him as she quickly examines the path ahead. While he may think that running at top speed is a brilliant idea, she knows just how dangerous that could be. Finishing her scan, seeing nothing amiss, Helena motions for the others to follow her as she starts forward again, picking up her pace slightly. Under the best circumstances, the trip from the office to the Archives takes about 15 minutes; thanks to the alarm, who knows how much time they have? At least this alarm doesn’t have an aural component; that makes it much easier to listen for out of place sounds like other footsteps…

Something drops to the ground with a _bang_ , drawing Helena and Zoe’s attention and obviously startling Jayne. Swearing, the big mercenary swings around, aiming the gun he calls Vera towards the upper shelves. Something trips him up, however, and he bowls into the women, pushing all three of them towards the opposite side of the aisle. Helena doesn’t have time to even think of dodging before she hits the shelves and has the wind knocked out of her by Jayne. Unfortunately, she doesn’t get a chance to regain her breath; as she hits, something squirms to life and wraps around the three of them, holding them together.

_Bollocks._


	13. Chapter 13

“I’m just saying we should do something!”

“Like what?” Alexandra Hamilton Huang asks as she stops to scan the cross aisle. “We have no idea what’s going on.”

“I told you,” X pants from behind her, “amber light means intruders in the Warehouse.”

“And we can do what, exactly?” Alex glances over her shoulder at her partner. Whatever is going on, Alex will happily take it instead of the drudgery of inventory. “We don’t even know where these supposed intruders are. We need to get back to the---“

“Shhh!” X holds up a finger and cocks his head to the side. Alex immediately quiets, letting him listen. When he points to the right, she nods for him to take the lead. After two years, she trusts her partner’s spooky abilities completely. Even when he begins climbing one of the built-in access ladders to reach the top shelf of an aisle, she follows. Sure enough, when X points down into the aisle below, she can see the intruders: two women and one man, the latter armed to the teeth. Their current path takes them away from the office. Consulting her mental map, Alex can think of several places they could be headed, none of which bode well. Fortunately, Alex can think of one choke point that the trio must pass through, regardless of their destination. She taps X’s shoulder and signals him to follow her. They reach the intersection just ahead of the intruders. Fortunately, the artifact Alex wants to use is already there: rope from an ancient Earth-That-Was sailing vessel called the _Marie Celeste_. Sometimes, Alex wonders who had the _kwong-juh duh_ idea to ship crates of potentially dangerous artifacts off Earth-That-Was. Right now, she’s grateful they did.

She uses her quietest whisper to direct X to find a distraction and pulls out a pair of gloves. Carefully, she pulls the rope from its crate and moves to the edge of the shelf. At her nod, X tosses something small and metallic to the floor behind the intruders, creating a rather large _bang._ As the trio’s heads turn towards the sound, Alex hastily drops the rope into position behind the leader. Fortunately, the big man’s own feet trip him up and he plows into the two women; all three topple against the rope, which springs to life and wraps them up tight.

“ _Jing tsai!”_ Alex whispers. A quick scan reveals no other interlopers, so she heads for the nearest ladder and begins climbing down towards the floor.

“Alex?” X’s voice sounds loud after the whispers and gestures of a moment ago. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure the prisoners are secured,” Alex replies. Scuffling and swearing reach her ears as she approaches the trio, the latter mostly coming from the large man.

_“Ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng! Liou coe shway---”_

“Stop struggling!” another voice cuts off the rant. The accent catches Alex’s attention. Surely it can’t be…

“Agent Wells?” Alex takes a couple of steps to the side. Sure enough, squashed between the large man and the shelf, stands the Warehouse’s resident genius.

“Agent Wells?” X echoes. Alex jumps; she’s been so focused on the prisoners she didn’t hear her partner walk up right behind her. “What are you doing here?” the other agent continues, either oblivious to or ignoring his partner’s action.

“Hello.” The slightly muffled reply sounds a bit resigned. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to get this great lummox off of me?”

Still shocked to find that she’s caught H. G. Wells in her trap, Alex takes a moment to study the other prisoners. The man is huge, both tall and muscular. The rather large gun he holds appears to be digging into the second woman. At least, she attempts to shove it away, but the rope constricts her movements.

“Alex?” X’s voice breaks in to her thoughts. “Are we going to let Agent Wells go?”

Alex quickly makes up her mind. “No.”

“But…” She turns around to face her partner. He looks distressed, like a child who’s done something wrong.

“She’s here, helping the intruders,” Alex reminds him.

“How do you know she was helping them?”

“Um, let me think, the fact that she was leading them through the Warehouse?”

“Maybe they coerced her.”

Behind her, the big man huffs out a laugh. “Coerce Helena? What kind o’ _gos se_ you been--” His sentence cuts off in a rush of air, presumably caused by the rope tightening.

Alex doesn’t even bother turning back to the prisoners. “Doesn’t matter. We need to keep all three of them detained until reinforcements arrive.” She gives X a pointed look, hoping he gets the hint to not mention the fact that they’re one of only two teams currently in the Warehouse.

X opens his mouth, but before he can reply he gets a funny look on his face. “ _Wuh de tyen ah.”_ With that, his eyes roll up into his head and he collapses to the floor. Alex finds herself looking at a girl, a little slip of a thing with long brown hair whose gloved hand is raised as if she just touched X’s back.

The girl meets Alex’s gaze and smiles. “She would apologize, but the Guardian will never accept it.” With that, she leaps over X’s prone form and shoves her hand in Alex’s face. Alex barely has time to think _Artifact!_ before she feels herself falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

Lightning guns. Thimbles that can change a person’s appearance. Bronze statues that are actually living people. And now a rope that can trap a person on its own. Even as she struggles against said rope, Zoe can’t help but muse on the fact that this has been one of the most interesting jobs the crew has ever taken.

She quickly realizes that struggling only makes the rope tighten more. She tries to stop moving, but Jayne’s continued wriggling makes Vera dig into Zoe’s side. Sadly, her attempts to evade the gun’s barrel prove worse than useless as the rope instead draws her closer to Jayne. She can’t even see the two Warehouse agents who show up. Helena recognizes them of course, but her plea for freedom is met with indifference. Zoe begins thinking of ways to get to the knife in her boot when she hears one body drop. A very familiar voice offers a sort-of apology before the sound of another body hitting the floor reaches Zoe’s ears.

“Clever girl,” Helena states. “See that hose?” Zoe can’t see anything, but River apparently can. The next thing Zoe knows, she’s being sprayed with a fine purple mist. The rope loosens and drops away. Zoe gratefully steps away from Jayne and wipes the liquid off of her face. River turns off the hose and smiles serenely at them.

“Good job,” Zoe tells the girl, moving closer to the bodies on the ground. It didn’t sound like River had killed them, and sure enough, Zoe can see the chests of both agents rising and falling. She looks at River again to ask how and notices the gloves. “River, honey, where did you get those?” She knows they don’t belong to the girl. River normally won’t wear gloves unless her brother or Mal insist. Besides, these gloves look like something better suited to someone of the highest social class: Pale grey, with intricate embroidery on the backs.

“They called to her,” River replies, not looking worried in the least. She carries the hose back over to one shelf and hangs it on a hook there.

Zoe throws a worried look at Helena. Both she and Donovan had stressed how dangerous the artifacts could be. The fact that River has picked one up doesn’t fill Zoe with happy feelings. Helena clearly feels the same. She makes her way to the girl and pulls one of those silver pouches out from behind the hose. River sighs dramatically, but she does take the gloves off and deposit them in the bag. Purple and gold sparks dance in the air briefly before Helena seals the pouch and places it on the shelf.

The sound of footsteps causes Zoe and Helena to go for their guns, and Zoe can hear Jayne bring Vera up to a ready position. Fortunately, the figure that rounds the closer end of the aisle is a very familiar one. “Expectin’ someone else?” Mal asks as he approaches them. The three adults lower their weapons, although Zoe keeps hers handy and notices the others doing the same. Mal looks at River. “Lil’ Albatross, you gotta stop harin’ off like that.” Zoe looks at River, who merely gives Mal one of those inscrutable looks she’s so good at.

“If her ‘haring off’ continues to lead to timely rescues, I should think you’d rather encourage that behavior,” Helena comments. Mal makes a face that clearly conveys what he thinks of that idea, which Helena ignores. “We should keep moving. I don’t doubt that other agents are about and looking for us.”

“Where’s Inara?”

“Back at the office guarding our prisoner.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“Not the original one, no.” Helena starts moving, forcing the rest of them to do likewise. “Now kindly shut up. We need to keep our ears and eyes open for any more surprises.”

Zoe can see Mal’s jaw working, but he clearly agrees with the wisdom of this statement. Zoe turns her own attention back to their surroundings. The last thing she wants is to get caught in another trap.

Many tense minutes later, Helena finally leads them down an aisle that dead ends in what looks like a massive stone hut with a metal door. Zoe keeps a wary eye on their surroundings as Helena grabs hold of the large metal wheel set in the door and turns it. Mal ducks through the opening, gun ready. Helena follows close behind. Zoe’s just about to tell River to follow when the door suddenly reverses direction and slams shut.


	14. Chapter 14

“Captain! Welcome!” Shepherd Book grins as Mal approaches the fire pit. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

“Yeah Mal,” Wash chimes in. He’s seated on the ground, back against a bench, Zoe leaning against him. “Inara was getting ready to send a search party after you.”

“I was not!” the Companion denies, gliding over to him. She kisses him. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t miss dinner.”

“Not a chance,” Mal smiles and pulls her in for another kiss. When they pull apart, Inara leads him to an empty bench. One of the many Haven brats brings him a plate of food. Mal thanks the kid and happily digs in, taking in the sight before him. Kaylee’s sitting in the doc’s lap, feeding him strawberries one at a time. Jayne’s got his guitar out, strumming a jaunty tune, while River dances with more of the kids. Zoe and Wash look to be in their own little ‘verse again, and the preacher’s just watching everything with an air of peace. Inara leans against him, stealing food from his plate, positively glowing in the flickering red light of the fire. For the first time in a long time, Mal feels true serenity.

* * *

 

“Helena?” The door opens, revealing Myka. “Are you busy?” She takes a couple of steps into Helena’s room at the B&B.

“No,” Helena replies, standing up from her desk.

“Good.” Myka quickly closes the remaining distance between the two, reaches up to hold Helena’s face, and kisses her. Slightly surprised, Helena nevertheless wraps her arms around the other woman and kisses her back. Her projects can wait for a bit.

* * *

 

Tucked tight against one of the shelves, Zoe tries to stay calm. So far, the slam of the Archive door hasn’t brought any Warehouse agents down on them, but who knows how long that will last. She sent River up a ladder to keep an eye on the overhead approaches; despite her best efforts, the girl can’t get a read on Mal or Helena now that they’re inside the hut, so her talents are better used elsewhere. Jayne keeps trying to open the door, but so far he’s not having any luck. At least he’s stopped swearing out loud, although Zoe can still make out the occasional whisper. The passing similarities to Mr. Universe’s moon aren’t lost on her. _Come on Mal. Pull off another miracle._

* * *

 

Dinner over, Mal and the crew still sit around the fire pit. They trade jokes and stories, finishing one another’s sentences and laughing at past mistakes. All the while, the red flames dance merrily, reaching towards the sky.

* * *

 

Helena lies on her back, gasping for breath as Myka straddles her and sucks on her neck. Amazingly, both women are still fully clothed, but Helena is ready to change that. She finally manages to free her hands from where Myka has them pinned and pushes the younger agent’s head away. “Shirt off,” she pants, reaching for the hem of the garment in question. As Myka pulls the shirt over her head, Helena suddenly notices a red lamp on the desk. “Where did that come from?”

“What?” Myka tosses her shirt to the side and looks around.

“That lamp.”

“Dunno,” Myka shrugs. “Leena must’ve picked it up somewhere.” She turns back to Helena. “Typical HG: So observant of everything around her. Tell me, what do you think of this?” She leans back down to resume her attack on Helena’s lips as her hands begin to undo the buttons on the other woman’s shirt.

Helena hums appreciatively. Yet when her eyes open again she can’t help looking back at the lamp. “When though? It wasn’t here when we left for…” Her voice trails off as memory hits like a bucket of cold water.

“Left for where?” Myka asks between kisses on Helena’s torso.

“Egypt.”

Myka laughs and looks up. “We’ve never been to Egypt.”

“Yes, we have.” The floodgates open. In a flash Helena remembers everything, including her current task. “This isn’t real.”

“I’m hurt,” Myka mock pouts. “How is this,” she moves up to kiss Helena’s lips again, “not real?”

Gently, Helena pushes the other woman away. Imaginary or not, she can’t bear the thought of hurting Myka again. “Trust me darling,” she says, sitting up and beginning to re-button her shirt. “Soon, though. Very soon.” With that, she stands and walks towards the lamp. Myka makes a last grab for her, but Helena easily evades her and reaches for the red light.

The transition is just as sudden and painful as she remembers. The room around her dissolves, and Helena finds herself standing in the Archives of Warehouse 15 once more. Actually, the antechamber of the Archives; Claudia had outlined the layout very carefully during their planning sessions. She’d even warned Helena about the replica Medusa. Fortunately, this one didn’t kill its victims. It merely immobilized them until properly shielded Warehouse agents could deal with them. Helena mentally kicked herself; she’d completely forgotten to grab the key Claudia had told her about. Well, spilt milk and all that. Looking around, she finds Mal standing less than three feet away. “Captain,” she calls as she approaches him. “Captain!” He’s unresponsive. “Captain!” This time, she gives him a little shake.

It does the trick. He comes to and looks around. “ _Wuh de tyen ah.”_ He blinks furiously. “What the ruttin’ hell?”

“Just precautions against intruders.” Helena doesn’t acknowledge the gruffness in his voice or the tear that runs down his cheek. She can guess what his happiest place was. Instead, she moves over to the large head carved in the wall and pushes the eye. As its predecessor had in Warehouse 2, the statue swings up to allow entry into the Archives proper. “Shall we?”

* * *

 

Mal follows Helena, but his little trip into a dream weighs heavily on him. The sight of his entire crew gathered once more, everyone happy, healthy, and whole, fills his mind. He barely registers the incredible sight of the Archives: Glowing pictures that fly through the air, swirling around him and Helena. Dazed, he half-watches as she manipulates the images, rearranging them until a new sequence joins those already floating past. “That should do it,” she states. She motions for him to head back the way they’ve come, which he happily does.

They return to the antechamber. As the creepy statue swings shut behind them, Mal realizes he’s hearing other noises, too: Yells, and something that sounds suspiciously like Vera. Helena clearly hears it too, for she runs to the huge metal door and begins turning the wheel once more. As it begins to swing open, Mal reassures himself that his gun is ready. He couldn’t save Book or Wash, but he can damn sure keep the rest of his crew safe.

* * *

 

The scene outside the Archives can best be summed up with the word “barely-controlled chaos”. From what Helena can see as she and Mal exit the hut, at least four Warehouse agents are attempting to subdue the crew of _Serenity_ using a combination of Teslas and artifacts. Neither side has a clear advantage. With the exception of Jayne, those with guns are obviously trying to avoid hitting artifacts. The big mercenary either didn’t pay attention to that part of the briefings, has forgotten, or chose to ignore the warnings. Given that he’s using Vera to hold off something resembling a large automaton, Helena decides not to make an issue of it. Pulling out her own Tesla, she approaches that skirmish. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Mal moving off to help Zoe. Heaven only knows where River has gone or what she’s up to.

Helena reaches Jayne just as he manages to shoot a hole through the machine’s chest plate. Bracing her arms on the closest shelf, Helena aims and fires. Green lightning leaps across the gap and into the hole; seconds later the mechanism begins to smoke and spark. It freezes in place.

“Nice shootin’,” Jayne compliments her.

“And you,” she replies. She can feel the tinkerer’s itch to go take the thing apart and find out what makes it tick, but that will have to wait for another time. As it is, she barely has time to take a deep breath before she spots Agent Huang aiming a Tesla at them through a gap in the shelves. “Down!” she snaps, pulling on Jayne’s arm as she drops. Thankfully, Jayne follows her, and the lightning hits the shelf instead. She’s just about to pop back up and try for a shot of her own when Claudia’s voice reverberates through the Warehouse.

“STOP!”

* * *

 

An hour later, Mal stands in Warehouse Fifteen’s office, watching as Michael Jenkins is led away by two of his own agents. “What happens to him?”

“The Regents will deal with him,” Donovan replied.

“These the same Regents that let him lock you out in the first place?”

Donovan smiled. “The other ones.”

“Just checking.” Mal looks over at where Jayne, Zoe, and Inara are seated, talking in quiet voices. The other two Warehouse agents got stuck with cleanup duty. River called the ship to come on in for a landing then headed up to the roof to meet them. Helena disappeared shortly after Donovan arrived, following a hurried conference with the Caretaker. “So what now?”

“Months of paperwork,” Donovan says, half-joking. Before he can ask what she means, the office door opens again to admit River, Doc, and Kaylee. The latter steers a power dolly containing a familiar crate. “Excuse me, Captain.” Donovan steps away and motions for Kaylee to follow her out into the Warehouse. The Doc and River tag along, as well. Mal doesn’t feel the need. He partially understands what’s about to happen, but he doesn’t need to witness it firsthand. He doubts Helena’ll want a large crowd when her friend comes out of stasis. ‘Sides, he’s got friends of his own to look after. With a last look at the door into the Warehouse, he heads for the seat next to Inara.

* * *

 

For the first time in over five hundred years, light pierces the darkness. Simultaneously, Myka becomes aware of a whooshing noise all around her. This subsides rather quickly and is followed by the sound of a door sliding open. Heart pounding, she carefully opens her eyes.

A small group of people stands outside the Bronzer. Immediately to her left, Claudia smiles at her. “Hey Myka. Long time no see,” she jokes. A young, dark haired man offers his hand to Myka, helping her out of the Bronzer and to a chair nearby. He immediately produces something resembling a stethoscope, so Myka feels safe in assuming he’s a doctor and lets him check her over. Two young women, one blond, one brunette, stand near Claudia. And next to them, gazing at her intensely… “Helena.”

“Myka.” Vaguely, Myka senses the others retreating back into the Warehouse. Tentatively, Helena approaches and crouches in front of her, mere inches away. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dreaming,” Myka admits, half-laughing. “Is this what it was like for you?”

Helena nods. She slowly reaches out and places her hand just above Myka’s knee. “It will wear off, I assure you.”

Myka reaches down and covers Helena’s hand with her own. “This helps.” She lifts her other hand and cups Helena’s cheek. “So does this.”

Helena smiles briefly and shifts so that she’s kneeling between Myka’s legs. “I agree.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Myka, I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sor--”

Myka moves her hand to cover Helena’s mouth. “We’ve been over this. No more apologies. Okay?” Helena nods, and Myka can feel the small smile return. She shifts her hand to the back of Helena’s neck and merely looks at the other woman, at a loss for words.

“Still feel like you’re dreaming?” Helena eventually asks.

“A little.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” Helena glances at Myka’s lips then back up at her eyes, seeking permission. Myka smiles and pulls the other woman towards her. Helena smiles back briefly before closing the distance and placing her lips on Myka’s in what is quite possibly the sweetest kiss Myka has ever had. _I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder._

Some time later, Helena finally pulls away, smiling. “Do you think you can walk?”

Myka can’t help laughing. “Your kissing skills aren’t _that_ good, Wells.”

Helena flashes an evil grin. “That remains to be seen. And you haven’t answered my question.”

Myka laughs again. “Yes, I think I can walk.”

“Then come.” Helena stands up and offers her hand to Myka. “I can’t promise ‘endless’, but this new ‘verse certainly has its share of wonder.”

* * *

 

“So what happens now?” Kaylee asks. She’s sharing a seat on a bench with Simon, just as Inara is with Mal. The rest of the crew are scattered around Warehouse Fifteen’s office, seated either in chairs or, in Jayne’s case, on one of the large worktables. Claudia just escorted the two other Warehouse agents back out to assist with the clean up, so for the moment only crew are present.

“We get paid!” Jayne proclaims. “Right?” he turns to Mal.

“Of course,” Claudia replies, stepping back into the room. “I’m nothing if not a lady of my word.” She turns her attention to Mal. “Would you prefer cash? Or do you have an account somewhere?”

Inara suppresses a snicker; the idea of any bank having Mal as a client is more than a bit ridiculous. As is the idea of Mal trusting any bank. “Cash,” Mal replies, smirking. Clearly, he’s thinking along the same lines as Inara.

The Caretaker nods, also smiling. “Out of curiosity, what _are_ your plans now, Captain?”

Mal shrugs. “Prob’ly head back out to the Border planets, try to scare up another job.” Inara hopes he’s just saying that; she knows she could use a good break after this latest job. Surely the rest of the crew feel the same.

“How would you like to know where your next job is coming from? To _always_ know where your next job is coming from?”

_“Shuh muh?”_

“How would you like to come work for the Warehouse?” Silence greets Claudia’s words, so she continues. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you and your crew for some time now. You’re clearly capable of more than smuggling marked protein rations across planetary borders.” Either the woman is incredibly good at guessing, or she’s done her research.

Mal’s clearly turning this over in his mind, so Inara steps in. “What exactly would this job entail?” Mal squeezes her knee in thanks.

“Not much more than you’ve already done. Certainly nothing like the Miranda wave.” Inara can feel the crew’s tension spike and then drain away. “But I know this is a big decision, so take some time to talk it over with your crew.” With that, Claudia exits the office again.

“She does a lot of comin’ and goin’, doesn’t she?” Kaylee observes.

“That she does,” Mal agrees. “And she’s made quite the offer. Thoughts?”

“Steady money sounds good to me,” Jayne proclaims.

“Be nice to know we can get parts for _Serenity_ when we need ‘em,” Kaylee points out. “Miss Donovan says the Warehouse has great repair facilities.”

Simon speaks next. “According to both Miss Donovan and Agent Carter, they can always use another doctor.”

“Sure would be nice to know that there’s someone to help when things _qu si ba_ ,” Zoe mentions.

Surprisingly, Mal doesn’t argue with that statement. “Anyone else worried ‘bout the possibility of scrappin’ with the Alliance?”

Inara snorts and could swear she hears several others do the same. “Like that’s ever stopped you before!” Mal’s eyes twinkle; he’s just yanking their chains. “Seriously Mal,” Inara continues, “it would be nice to _know_ we’ve got work instead of smuggling geisha dolls with wobble heads because we’re strapped for cash.”

Kaylee’s now giggling outright, and even Zoe’s cracked a smile. Mal concedes the point with a nod before turning to the last member of the crew. “How ‘bout you, Lil’ Albatross?”

“I smell apples.”

Mal waits for a moment to see if River has anything else to add. “Ho-kay. Doc, may be time to scan your sister’s brain again.”

“It means the Warehouse likes her,” Helena’s voice breaks in to the conversation. Inara turns to see the older woman standing in the door. She’s not alone; standing next to her is a slightly taller woman with dark brown hair and oddly familiar features. “I won’t say that’s always a good thing,” Helena continues, “but I can’t think of a situation where it hurts.” She gestures towards the group, and Inara realizes that she’s holding hands with the other woman. “May we join you?” Mal nods and the pair make their way over to the group. “By the way everyone, this is Myka. Myka this is…” Shock causes Inara miss the introductions. _Myka._ The bronze statue that Claudia brought on board. No wonder her features seemed so familiar! Inara forcibly pulls herself out of her thoughts in time to hear Helena say “…told us about the offer she made you. Have you reached a decision?”

Inara watches as Mal deliberately seeks out each crew member’s eyes, looking for their answer. “Think so. Want to go find Donovan?”

“I’m right here, Captain.” And sure enough, she is. Briefly, Inara wonders if she’ll ever get used to the Caretaker’s sudden dis- and reappearances. Then again, it can’t be that much different than living with River, can it? “You have something to tell me?”

“You’ve got yourself a crew.”

Claudia nods acceptance. “Then welcome aboard, all of you. Perfect timing, too. We’ve just received news of people who claim they can heal anyone with just a touch.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google translation, "qu si ba" is acceptable Chinese for "go to Hell". If that's incorrect, please let me know and I will fix it.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read, bookmark, subscribe, and comment!


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